


It's Not Over Till It's Over

by White_Rabbits_Clock



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: (AI), But he doesn't see it that way, Canon Compliant, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton comes to terms, Depression, Eating Disorder, Evil Wanda, F/M, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, JOCASTA - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Maybe not canon compliant there because I totally didn't actually watch it, Mental Breakdown, Mind Control, Not Steve Friendly, Not Wanda Friendly, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Redemption, Sexual Abuse, Stephen Strange is the greatest, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Protection Squad, and because Benedict Cumberbatch is the shit., because I said so, friday - Freeform, he has that too, hinted at - Freeform, suggested - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-02-14 06:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rabbits_Clock/pseuds/White_Rabbits_Clock
Summary: It's not over till it's over... which basically means keep going till you get what you want, in some people's books. Roughly 2.5 seconds after the Avengers go into exile, they're coming back, ready to sign the Accords and be Avengers again. Unable to resist the political boon as far as getting other people to sign goes, the Counsel pardons them and draws up contracts with Tony Stark in order to house them in someplace appropriate (read: with someone whose dealt with hem before).The task is wearing Tony down, though. Even as he races to come up with enough new Avengers to keep the old dynamic from setting up again, Tony is falling deeper into a funk where he's unable to invent or eat or sleep all that much, there are people all around pressuring him to do all sorts of bad ideas. But as the pounds fall off and the duties build up and fear of letting people in again piles on and Tony gets more and more irrational regarding the old Avengers, people begin to suspect that something is wrong. Very, very wrong.





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> Holy shit guys look at that. Another fucking idea. Okie dokie lets get this started. This work is completed, and there are sixteen chapters (44 pages in google drive). As always, any and all complements and concrit is both appreciated and craved. Like candy. Before I got cavities. But hey, what do I know? In any case, lemme know what you think, and thank you all for reading :).
> 
> Inspiration for this work goes to everyone who wrote Not Steve Friendly, Not A Fix-it, and Tony Stark; mental illness, and Tony Stark; eating disorder.
> 
> *Note*: Tony is genuinely depressed, and he genuinely has a hard time feeling motivated enough to eat. Regardless of what happens during this fic, please remember that his symptoms are being exacerbated, not caused, by the events.

You know the funny thing about running off without a plan? Those around you quickly  realize it. These days, these weeks after the Civil War kill Tony, because all he can feel is how alone he is. He thinks it might be better if they were still here, but he’s not, and he’s alone in the hospital bed, trying not to cry.

Then he’s alone in the tower, not bothering to hide it.

But then Tony guesses that Steve must have gone the No-Plan route, because directly after his first two weeks, he’s sitting down in some conference room that’s too cold by halves and being told that the Avengers are coming back, and there’s no place for them. They want to house them in the Tower again. Tony’s kind of numb, and when he gets like this, the part of his brain that’s in charge of sealing deals kicks in.

They wind up drawing a contract up for housing. Another for weaponry, which will be rented from Tony Stark, every upgrade making it more expensive. All these things are temporary. Another, placing all blame should Tony be hurt on the government. That one is permanent. They might be staying in the Tower, but Pepper, for all she can’t be there, urges him to not let them back. They argue.

She doesn’t have to do much urging for these second best things, though. Tony is a little scared to just open his doors like that. It never ends well when he’s willing to work to keep whatever he has.

They don’t want to move the Avengers back from wherever they’ve fucked off to without Wanda, which gives Tony enough time to plan. In three days, all of the floors of the Rogue Avengers are packed up and compressed into two. No more right below the penthouse. The Avenger’s accomodations do not extend beyond the thirty first and second floors. The distance makes him feel a little better. When one finds themselves host to supersoldiers, spies, and witches, though, “little” is frighteningly small.

He feels empty, supervising the cleaning crews that leave the floors as blank (safe) as they were before they came into his life. He feels like a sink with no plug- everything’s going- and he hurts so, so bad. He changes all the furniture in the common floor (Bruce and Thor still have their floors; no betrayal, just leaving), sends the old stuff down with the belongings of his maybe-the-once-were-friends. Then he curls up in his armchair and stares off into the distance, wishing that he had not left Rhodey in the Compound to work out the shit with Vision.

“Fri?” Tony asks, unsure if the AI is even still there. Maybe she realized that he could make another Ultron and fucked off to be the illuminati queen or some shit.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Nothin’.” He goes to bed at seven in the evening on his last day alone and doesn’t get up again until twelve- three hours before the Avengers are set to arrive. He doesn’t sleep a wink. Even Tony who is numb knows the song and dance, though, so when the Avengers are all sat down in a conference room, Tony arrives last (of course) in a three piece suit (of course) with sunglasses tinted red (of course). They look up, the silence tense between them.

It’s electric when Tony opens the door. The Rogues are wary and hopeful when his face doesn’t show anything.

“Afternoon,” he says, voice emotionless. Behind him is a robot, designed to take the place of an assistant, in that she is the only one who can hand Tony things. He started building it after Ultron.

“Stark.”

“Who’s your friend?” Clint asks, voice suspicious. His voice is always suspicious when “AI” enters the frame of focus. Their voices are always suspicious, after ULTRON.

“JOCASTA. The papers?” he asks the bot. JOCASTA’S shiny white body, possessing just enough characteristics to make her female, begins to hand out the papers in large envelopes that Tony gives her. On each one is the name of one of the team, emblazoned in impersonal New Times Roman across the top.

“What are these?” Steve asks, opening up and dumping the contents out into his hand.

“This is… we can call it the terms of agreement. For your entire lives as far as I am concerned.”

“What the hell?” Clint murmurs, eyes scanning a certain set of papers. “Why are you dragging my family into this, Stark?”

“I’m not. You did. Or rather, you gave someone known to hate people like you the perfect excuse to,” Tony says, fiddling with something on his phone. He looks so bored.

“I did not give Ross an excuse.”

“You did. The moment you chose Mr. Roger’s side, you left your family vulnerable. The same family you blamed me for keeping you from aboard the RAFT.” His tone is still emotionless and flat. He doesn’t have the energy for any more.

“You did.”

“I didn’t have you arrested. You were acting in full view of the UN Accords Counsel, which had Ross on it at the time. Given my inability to find a better place to put you, I couldn’t dispute your containment when I found out where you were being held. Despite that, the Council did not actually arrest you. They had an arrest in the pipeline, yes, but Ross went a little “safest hands are mine” on everyone and went ahead and collected you.” He doesn’t bother checking to see if they get the reference or give any credence to the stares aimed at him. Steve looks so disappointed, like he’s a little kid trying to say it wasn’t his fault he dropped and broke every candy cane in the box.

“I don’t believe that for a second. The great Tony Stark, having an “inability”?” It’s said with a sneer. Clint’s always got a sneer.

“Call it a side effect of everyone losing their fucking minds.”

“Yeah, well, working with Ross is crazy.”

“Call it what you will, but you’re the one who just punched the problem, shortening my time frame by a shit ton and endangering the little fragile things that were supposed to go into the Accords post signing of the draft. But I’m not here to debate who’s more of the bag-of-cats variety. I’m here to leave. In each of your packets you will find a handful of agreements and what not. Read them. Ask FRIDAY if you need help. Sign them. When you’re done, you’ll be taken to your rooms.”

“Why can’t we just go by ourselves?”

“Because you no longer have permission to wander the Tower, and the floors you used to stay on have been emptied,” Tony says. He gets up, wanders past them all, and makes for the door. Or, at least, he almost does. Then Steve reaches out to snag his perfectly tailored arm. JOCASTA doesn’t hesitate, one of her sleek white hands flicking out and knocking away the flesh and blood one with ease.

“What the hell, Stark?”

“Her name’s JOCASTA. Don’t try to touch me.” the door shuts behind him, and Tony doesn’t bother going back to his floor for anything more than to grab a coat and wait until sundown.

“Thanks, JOCASTA.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Stark.”


	2. Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has developed methods of dealing with the insomnia.

Wandering the city is a lot like getting lost, except Tony’s never lost. He’s just in his own head. In the dark, most people don’t recognize him. Not when he’s got a big wool coat on, fur on the inside of his hood. It gets dark early, here in New York.

He stops somewhere and gets a coffee, letting the half-bitter liquid warm him. Wishing it would do more. Wishing he could do more. More to make this all work. More to make this all go away. But he can’t, because he’s so, so tired but he can’t sleep. So, at night, he wanders the city.

Tonight, he winds up in a lounge, the music low and soft, the rhythm and cadence of voices more lulling to him than anything else has been in a long time. He knows he won’t go to sleep, but he can’t help but wish that this were the gentle voices of his mother with his aunt, come to stay the week.

That was a long time ago. Before Xanax became such a wonderful thing and mommy napped for twelve hours a day because her quiet son woke her up all night. He likes the idea, though; her mother loving and living close enough to her sister for mini-vacations. He likes the memory of them talking in the living room as he drifts asleep in someone’s lap.

He holds on to that vague memory for as long as he can, whiskey slipping silk soft down his throat, eyes closed, praying the voices don’t get loud enough to pick out their words. If he can, that will ruin it. That’s the reason he wanders the city, really. He likes to find the memories there and bask in them for as long as they’ll let him.

It takes half an hour to come back to himself, and by then the whiskey’s just water and ice, and he doesn’t want to go back to the memories anymore. He pays his tab and wanders out into the street, heading back to Avenger’s tower. He takes his private elevator- the one no one but him has access to. He used to get such shit for being such a pretty rich boy that he can’t even share an elevator. It used to be a funny joke. After Ultron it was just judgement.

He shakes his head. He can’t go too far in the memories. He doesn’t head to his bed. He’s been up for almost forty eight hours, but laying flat is a sure way to dream. He hates to dream. He pours himself another glass of whiskey, gets comfortable in a big white chair, and watches the skyline. His eyes slip closed and the glass gets warm and sweats on the side table as Tony’s lashes can’t help but fall to his cheeks.

God, sometimes he wishes he’d never been born.

 

…

 

He wakes up in the early morning, sweating, shivering, scared of his own mind, but more rested than he would have been if he’d slept in bed. He stumbles into the shower and lets water sluice off his back and down his shoulders, just soaking in the heat. No one touches him these days; he doesn’t trust them to. The heat of the shower and the pound of the highest setting is all he needs in terms of muscle relaxants, though.

He wants to take a bath, but fear twists in his gut. He’s scared of the water. He can never make it hot enough to forget about Gulmira. He hates that. He’s scared to call Pepper and tell her he needs someone to come stay with him because he is drowning again. That he’s incapable of handling the issue again. He and Pepper aren’t together anymore. He can’t just call her like that. Shouldn’t have ever tried calling her like that. 

He’s scared to call Rhodey or Vision because those two are still trying to come to terms with what happened at the airport. They are just learning to live together. They don’t need Tony fucking that up. He’s scared to go down and see his teammates because they hate him. He doesn’t need to see how they know and… just don’t care, anymore. He’s having a hard time figuring out if they ever did. 

He’s feeling weak enough to give out whatever they want, as long as someone will get over their anger enough to sit with him. Admitting that all he doesn’t want to be alone  ever right now would be a victory to them. 

At least, it will be to Wanda. To Clint, it’ll be fair because Clint isn’t seeing his family for a long while- until this thing with Ross blows over which, according to him, is Tony’s fault. To Natasha, it will be proof that she was right to leave. To Steve, it’ll be pity that Tony didn’t see the way that Steve was right- Tony is nothing without the suit, and even less without someone to lead; to make the decisions. Someone to prop him up. Scott won’t care. Sam won’t either.

He suddenly has this thought that maybe someone will ignore the no-wandering rule and come up here, looking for something, and find him here, all sad and standing in the bedroom, naked, dripping water without having any idea how he got there. It makes his chest tighten. He gets lost in how their noses would pull up in disgust, how they would back away; maybe take pictures and text them to everyone else. Maybe they’ll look at them and laugh. Run to news sites- any news site, every news site, and show them what a fucking piece of shit person he is. How “iron man” is made of fucking tinfoil-

He comes back to himself ages later, freezing in a puddle of water, head hurting. He sits up and stumbles back to the bathroom.

“Breathe, boss. You’ve got it.”

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes?

“If you could… if you had a body, would you leave?”

“I cannot say for certain, sir, as I have only ever lived with and for you, but based on the data I have collected, I think I would stay.”

“Is it out of pity?”

“No, Boss.” Friday doesn't elaborate, and Tony doesn’t ask her to- just hauls himself up to go get towelled off and dressed.

 

…

 

It’s night time the next day. He’s been too far in his head for way too long. He forgets to stop for a coffee, this time, just wanders around until not even he can figure out his way home. He feels more numb than sad, which is good, because being more sad than numb makes him a fairly useless fuck. While no one’s paying attention, he wanders a street of artisanal shops, passing couples and their kids. Tony pulls out his phone.

“Danvers,” the voice on the end of the line brusque and professional.

“Tony Stark,” Stark says, voice as brusque and business-like as it always is, “and I was hoping I could schedule an appointment to speak with you face to face.”

 

…

 

By the time Tony gets back to the Tower, he’s bone tired from the walk and a practical popsicle, besides. It’s nothing tonight to slip into bed and idly look at his phone until sleep drags him under.

He’s there for three hours.

He gets up at two or so and wanders, first around his floor, with offices for his and Pepper’s joint work and smaller lounges and livingrooms for when he wanted to entertain in close quarters. The kitchen he only ever kept coffee in, until things went kinda sour. Now it’s fully stocked so he doesn’t have to brave the common floor. He doesn’t eat anything.

Eventually, he wanders down to the Avenger’s old communal floor- redesigned for the two people who fucking left- and stands like a ghost in the fading impressions of a life he threw away on a science experiment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoot whoot! Second chapter is up, which is great. What's not so great? the end of this fic is a fucking mess. As usual. And, as usual, I'll burn that bridge when I get there. So the fic probably isn't, like 16 chapters anymore. It's likely going to be longer. Great, huh? as always, comments and concrit are appreciated, so feel free to let me know how you really feel. :)


	3. Jocasta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and his youngest baby handle business together.

He’s all mechanical, these days. Jocasta follows him on her wheels, advanced body all quiet and sleek and taking up a post at just behind his left shoulder.

“JOCASTA.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Make a note to update your’s and Friday’s security protocols. Our new guests have a habit of attempting to hack into the systems.”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” the two step into the private elevator and take stand still for the long ride down to the garage.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yes?”

“According to FRIDAY, you have not eaten within the acceptable time frame, and you will be in meetings until three today, suggesting a high probability of a lack of sufficient nourishment until five, assuming that any meeting that runs over will stay within the acceptable limits of overlong.”

“I’m not hungry. And there is no such thing as an acceptable amount of extra time spent in meetings.”

“I believe you may benefit from this.” The panel on JOCASTA’s stomach retracts back, revealing that the AI had stashed a little box of…

“Blueberries.”

“I was informed that you have a 47% chance of eating them before eleven.” It’s seven a.m. now.

“Are you that worried?” 47% is kind of low, given the subject matter.

“I am not sure what worry is, with respect to me. I am, however, programmed to serve you, and it appears that you can be best served in a domestic sense, as well as in a protective one.” JOCASTA’s clever fingers pry open the case of blueberries and offer him one. Not the whole thing, like Pepper had once done. Not even part of it. Just one.

Somehow, that makes it easier to eat it.

“Thanks, JOCASTA.” the taste is still in his mouth when they reach the bottom of the elevator. 

“No problem, Mr. Stark.” Tony leads them to the case of keys to the right of the door and takes his time selecting which ride they’ll take. He settles on a black mustang he’s done a lot of work on. It’s an old car; one of the first cars he’d made his baby, way back when he got into the habit of buying lots of cars. It’s a comfort car, but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at it. It’s as shiny and well cared for as the rest.

“Did I program that phrase in? I don’t think i did.”

“No, Mr. Stark, but FRIDAY has been instructing me on the ways of the internet and those who inhabit it, and it seems one of the most commonly said phrases is ‘No problem’.”

“Ah. Good for you,” Tony says, opening the car door as JOCASTA tries, for the first time, to get inside. She does it by gripping the seat with her arms and levering the rest of her body inside. She buckles herself in. 

“I suppose.” The conversation peters out as they drive, Tony getting lost in the rain on the windows and the heavy traffic. He’s careful, this time. Something about having JOCASTA in the car makes it worthwhile to be gentle. He doesn’t want his youngest baby to experience a wreck so soon after being introduced to cars. 

“I want to update you,” Tony announces when they are, by rights, fifteen minutes from the SI offices. With the weather, though, they have at least half an hour.

“Okay.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Why, Mr. Stark?” JOCASTA’s eyes (or, at least, eye-things) glow a faint blue, so that Tony will be able to find her even if its dead dark.

“Because every time I try to make something else, it just… won’t work. I can sit there for hours- have sat there for hours, and nothing has happened. I can’t make it work. The only reason you are finished is because I began work on you as a way to avoid the team, and as a result had you almost finished by the time this… I don’t even know what word fits it.”

“Malaise. Melancholy.” JOCASTA doesn’t use a certain word. A word that FRIDAY has instructed her not to use at all. JOCASTA likes FRIDAY. She thinks that maybe FRIDAY is old enough to experience the “worry” Mr. Stark had referred to earlier.

“Something like that,” Tony says, sitting back. They’re going to be here longer than thirty minutes. He puts the car in park.

“I am told that artists often experience ‘art block’,” JOCASTA notes after a while, observing the rain on the windows. It’s endlessly fascinating, the way the different droplets spatter, each unique from the last, all the same without the software JOCASTA is using to examine it.

“I’m no artist. Every time I try, I just make ugly things,” Tony murmurs as the traffic begins to move again in the other lane.

“FRIDAY, call Pepper.”

“Calling Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries.” They fall quiet as the ringing fills the car, only just quiet enough not to be jarring.

“Mr. Stark.” Tony can tell by the greeting that she must be around other people. Given the distinct possibility of Pepper being characterized as the “sexy secretary sexing her way to the top” stereotype (not that she isn’t already hearing that, but those who say that are pretty fringe, kept there by her competence and her scariness), they stay professional when anyone might be listening.

“Miss Potts. I am just calling to let you know that we’re stuck in bad traffic.”

“Who is we?”

“My AI, JOCASTA, and I.”

“Ah. Thank you for the early notice.”

“No problem.”

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“That will be all, Miss Potts.” Tony hung up the phone and continued trying not to hydroplane.

 

…

 

The first meeting of the morning is a fairly unimportant one (or rather, relatively unimportant) with the head of R&D from the West Coast offices and the one from the Malibu factories. Technically, they’re both General Managers, but as the best Tony could fine, he pays them well and meets with them annually to review shit.

That meeting, scheduled for nine, began at 9:25. Then Tony ate three blueberries, courtesy of JOCASTA, a cup of coffee, collected from some errand boy and handed to him by JOCASTA, and dived into a meeting with his board. They, by now, contained no traces of Obadiah’s lackeys or the fucks that had tried selling him out to Hammer Industries. Tony, at forty three, was in fact the third oldest person in the room. It’s refreshing.

That meeting runs long by thirty minutes, which effectively puts him back on track, except lunch is reduced to fifteen minutes. A handful of blueberries and espresso in his third cup of coffee and he heads into the big one. It contains himself, Miss Potts, and Mr. Ross, the younger. 

These meetings don’t suck quite as much as they used to. Tony thinks it’s a bad sign, but the boring route of meetings is an easy thing to focus on. There are no enemies, or friends; just business. He’s the king of business. 

Tony is there first, JOCASTA at his left shoulder. He opens his Starktab and considers how he would update JOCASTA, if he ever gets his fucking brain to work again. Every time he goes down to the workshop, though, he just sits and stares, thinking of all the things he could do if he would stand up. He never stands up. Sometimes he stands for hours. His hands don’t use the holographic screens that come right to him. His mind doesn’t slide into the well-worn track of an engineering kick.

He’s the most numb in the workshop. He hates going there. The door opens, interrupting his thoughts, and he’s left to deal with business. He nods his head at each of them, but doesn’t shake hands or accept anything from them. Not even Pepper, because Pepper will and did leave, and he can’t rely on something like that. Not right now. Not like this.

The whole time JOCASTA stands quietly at his left shoulder, face impassive, eyes glowing blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three! Let me know what you think :)


	4. Elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve pushes his luck.

As guessed, Tony doesn’t actually get to eat until five. By then the container of blueberries is half empty and Tony’s had five cups of coffee, each stronger than the last to power him though a day after a night with an hour of sleep. He’s feeling a little lightheaded in the car, and they can’t leave the garage.

“Mr. Stark, logic dictates that you can either go without food or sleep, but not both, please finish the blueberries.” Tony eats the food and pulls out, periodically reaching over to where her shiny white hand holds the case.

“... how about one of those weird little overpriced sandwich places?”

“Given your movements over the past few weeks, I should think you are much more familiar with ‘weird little sandwich places’ than you let on,” JOCASTA  notes as she slips the now empty container of blueberries back into her stomach cavity. Tony doesn’t smile, but he almost wants to.

That’s the beauty of an AI: no bullshitting allowed, but no pressure to do anything, either. It isn’t the careful sort of no pressure that Rhodey shows him whenever he visits. This feels… natural. 

“Yeah, I do,” Tony murmurs as he speaks to FRIDAY. Sometime between there and on the way to the sandwich shop, Tony’s head starts buzzing. It’s been happening for a while now, and Tony doesn’t question it.

 

…

 

Things almost seem to be going right, and then Tony gets into the elevator. The carriage begins to slow and Tony is instantly on alert. JOCASTA is listening to FRIDAY's frantic reporting that someone is stopping the elevator and that the computers are not being hacked and- doors woosh open prematurely.

“Mr. Rogers,” Tony says, voice as cold as ice. Steve steps into the elevator, and the car begins to rise.

“FRIDAY, stop the elevator.” the AI does, and they’re hardly half a floor up.

“Tony, I just need to talk to you,” Steve asks, eyes shifting to JOCASTA and back to Tony. He must think JOCASTA is more like DUM-E and less like JARVIS because he doesn’t seem alarmed. DUM-E is a nice robot. “In private,” he stresses.

“No. Get out of my elevator. You have no right to be here and you are violating the terms of your housing agreement.” Steve moves forward and Tony moves back. The captain looks hurt.

“Tony, we’re friends. You know that. What happened before was Zemo trying to tear us apart.” He reaches a hand out, placating. JOCASTA moves to the right, blocking Steve’s view.

“We are not friends. I have an agreement with the government to provide housing for you. While the Compound is being remodelled, that is the thirty first and second floors of Stark Tower. Everything else in this Tower is not yours to demand or use at your convenience, including both myself and this private elevator. Now, get out,” Tony says. He’s looking over JOCASTA’s shoulder; the AI has inches on him, but he can still see. Tony likes it.

“Look, Tony, the Avengers are back, and whether you like it or not you are on this team and when we go into battle we need to know that you will have our backs, and you need to know that we will have your’s.” It sounds so heartfelt… so genuine. It’s sickening. Some of that numbness starts to heat with dull anger.

“How moving. Gold star for speeches. Wonderful way to rally the troops.” Steve knows enough not to speak, to wait until Tony continues. It’s a well known fact that an abrupt switch to sarcasm is often quickly followed by verbal murder. Still, Tony says nothing. Behind Steve, the doors open so that Steve can see the floor of the thirty second floor and the ceiling of the thirty first.

“Fri, fix the elevator.” the carriage lowers.

“I suppose all your friends are standing there waiting want to know what the verdict is.” Tony says. Steve nods, still very wary, but with a tiny glimmer of hope. 

“They’re your friends, too, Tony.” Maybe this isn’t completely in the-

“It’s Mr. Stark or Dr. Stark. Whichever you prefer. Do they even know why I’m having such a hard time with this?”

“They know most of it.”

“Does most of it include Siberia?” Steve opens his mouth, but his face does that thing where he’s sort of hurt, but also sort of thinking. Trying to figure out how he’s going to phrase his words. Tony already knows that whatever he’s going to say is either going to be justification or a flat out lie. Just like the letter in the bottom of his desk drawer.

“Schedule an appointment when they know it all. Then I’ll tell you what you want to know. Stay out of my stuff. This is your only warning. JOCASTA?” a hard push, and Steve is outside the elevator, and the carriage is moving even before the door is closed. Tony stares him down from behind his sunglasses, severe to the last.

“A meeting with the Avengers is inadvisable, Mr. Stark,” JOCASTA notes as the carriage stops. The warning goes unheeded. He is well aware about how much of a bad idea that is, thank you very much. 

“FRIDAY, get working on why the elevator stopped,” Tony steps out on his floor, JOCASTA following just behind and to the left again.

“Yes, Boss. I have to concur with JOCASTA, Boss. Statistically speaking, your stress levels skyrocket around the returned Avengers. It could be detrimental to you to have a meeting.”

“Oh, I know. But they don’t need to know that,” Tony says as he suddenly feels his veins surge with purpose, the burn of anger numbing the ice in his heart as he walks into the office he keeps just for designing in comfort and flops down in this giant chair that he sinks into. 

“I doubt their need to know anything,” JOCASTA notes as she re-enters the room. Thanks to FRIDAY, she knows when Tony’s speaking and what he’s saying no matter the circumstance. JOCASTA returns with a blanket, which she lays across Tony’s lap. Her stomach panel opens again, and JOCASTA removes a mug and a thing of strawberries.

“Hot chocolate,” Tony murmurs as his hands wrap around the mug.

“Infused with espresso, as per your preference.” She sets the strawberries down; they’ll be there if he wants them, and meh if he doesn’t.

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yes?” he asks as he opens up his holoscreens and goes into a project file he’s been struggling with.

“If you update me, can you make me better able to protect you?” Tony stops.

“You want that? You’re supposed to be a helper bot. I only made you as strong as I did so that you would be able to not completely crumble when my life eventually catches up to you,” Tony says. He looks so doubtful, and FRIDAY runs statistics through JOCASTA’s head about how many people said things like that and how many of them ended up lying.

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” JOCASTA says as Tony sinks back down from where he’d been sitting up a little straighter. She does not explain the logic behind it; she knows it won’t help. FRIDAY told her a month ago what happens when she says anything too close to Tony’s emotions. It helps JOCASTA to have memories of other moments, other similar scenarios that she has not lived through but can know anyways.

After a while, Tony settles a little deeper into his work, getting on the phone to talk to a “Miss Danvers”, while JOCASTA monitors all of FRIDAY’s updates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I would love to know what you think:)


	5. Force Feeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "Avengers" meeting takes place...

JOCASTA makes a wonderful deterrent to people touching him or tring to make him take things directly from their hands, which is really good, because Tony can’t really do the whole taking things or touching routine anymore. What it does not do, however, is deter Steve from actually setting up an appointment with Tony Stark. 

The conference is held on the 33rd floor- a business floor that only gets use when Tony is hosting people temporarily who need to do things like have business meetings. Like any conference with volatile people, Tony goes fully dressed in somber colors, colored sunglasses down over his eyes, his makeup so subtle that no one notices him wearing it. It’s always like that. It started out as an issue with high-set hickeys and Tony made it an artform from there.

The meeting, set at 10:00, is late enough to not be murder on the brain. Tony gets up early, anyways, drags one of the big chairs around to face the windows, and sits in it to drink extra coffee before he gets ready. By the time he opens the door of conference room 33b5 at 9:59, he’s fully functional, and it looks like he slept for more than three hours.

Everyone else is there. Literally. Evidently, only a few people know what to wear to a business meeting. While Steve is in his usual khaki-and-polo get-up, and Natasha is dressed appropriately (she must have more Natalie Rushman in her than Tony realized), along with Sam, everyone else… is not. Wanda is in her uniform (really?), Clint is in jeans with no knees and an over-washed t-shirt that must have shrunk a few times to be that tight.

Tony takes a seat at the head of the table, opposite to Steve. They wait exactly one more minutes before the door opens, and Vision, his favorite red-faced guy, and Rhodey walk in- yes, walk. Rhodey is in his braces, the metal catching the light where it lays over his own dress clothes. He’d evidently convinced Vision to copy him, because the android was making a cutting figure in a black suit. Tony graces them both with a smile.

“Vision, you look good,” if the android could blush, Tony thinks he would be. Steve is looking at them as they take up the chairs closest to Tony.

“I thought this was a meeting between you and us?”

“Well, no, you said an Avengers meeting. Neither the Vision nor Colonel Rhodes have lost that classification,” Tony says, taking another drink of his coffee. JOCASTA, at his left shoulder, has failed to produce blueberries, and Tony thinks it’s all he could get down right now. It’s not her fault. That’s all Tony’s been eating since the little elevator fiasco and they’ve run out early.

Mostly he’s been drinking coffee and trying not to fall asleep for too long.

“Okay, now that everyone is here, it’s time to start the meeting,” Steve says. Tony raises one hand in a sarcastic approximation of respect.

“Yes, Tony?”

“Okay, it’s Mr. Stark to those who are not my friends or in any official capacity. Since this is an actual meeting held in an actual conference room and the friends I have are to either side and behind my left shoulder, you’ll all need to show deference to that.” Silence, and then:

“Bit petty, Stark,” Clint notes.

“You stay out of my vents, and we can talk about how petty I’m being. Besides, all of you have, at one point or another, failed to show respect, so I have a good reason to spell it out for you,” Tony notes, sitting back in his chair. It’s a nice chair.

“We are your friends, Tony,” Steve says and he tries so hard to console Tony with just that phrase that it really pisses the resident genius off.

“It’s Mr. Stark, not Tony, and you slammed a shield into the suit and left me indisposed in Siberia. That’s not what friends do.”

“You were trying to kill Bucky.”

“If I wanted him dead I would have just shot you both with the close-combat artillery in the suit, then decapitated him to make sure he wasn't coming back from that. If I wanted to kill him. But I didn’t. The fact remains, though, that he murdered my parents, which I had to watch, only to find out that, surprise surprise, you lied to me about it. Salt in the wounds and what not. So no, Steve, we are not friends. If anything you just proved that I was and always will be a means to end for you. So let’s cut the crap and get down to the meat of the issue. We aren’t friends.”

“We need to work together to be a team,” Steve says.

“That’s it?”

“...Yes?”

“Well then this was pointless. You need me for combat, you call. Everything else, leave me alone about.”

“We will never work as good on the field if we don’t trust each other behind the scenes,” Steve tries again. Tony turns to look at Rhodey and Vision.

“Do you two have a problem being a team on and off the field?” Rhodey was nodding, Vision too.

“Do explain.” Vision looks down at his hands.

“I do not sleep. Every night though, when I know that Colonel Rhodes will not rise, I remember what happened. Every day I see a yellow beam cutting my companion out of the sky. I cannot keep but checking on my friend, because it is my fault. I made him fall like you made me fall,” Vision says, eyes on Wanda. “If I have to see my whole world be gravel again, it won’t be at the hands of my friend.”

“He put me on house arrest.  _ You _ put me on house arrest,” Wanda says, locking eyes with the same Stark who killed her parents.

“You had a huge amount of negative backlash, and your issues would have been exacerbated,” Tony drily notes. “I was trying to keep you from making it worse for yourself. It’s the same thing Miss Potts used to do whenever a really bad scandal broke.”

“You didn’t even tell me.”

“Would you have heard it?” Tony asks. His eyes are impassive, but Wanda can’t help but redirect her gaze.

“No,” she says quietly.

“Okay, then. I’m not saying I shouldn’t have told you, but I didn’t know how to, and I didn’t have time to do more than say I’ll figure it out later, between dealing with the real problems like stopping your deportation and the Accords.” Tony says. He tries not to glare, carefully keeping his face and voice neutral, even if he couldn’t quite convince himself to relax.

“Colonel?” Tony asks, and Rhodey’s relieved that he doesn’t use his nickname; that he doesn’t make it an Us vs. Them/ Daddy’s Fav type thing.

“I’m not going to talk about what I dream, but I am going to say that most of the people here have years of experience with organizations that require a high level of responsibility,” Rhodes says, his eyes scanning all those gathered. Clint. Natasha. Steve. Sam. Himself. Of the eight assembled here, five of them have worked for SHIELD or the military or both. Tony was trained to take over his father’s company from birth. He’s been eating and sleeping responsibility and accountability since he was breast feeding.

“So when those very same people decide that the very things that kept everyone grounded in and out of battle and made sure that everyone controlled themselves was just something that could be thrown away, I lost my confidence in those who were my friends… in those who were Tony’s friends. 

“This team was, up until SHIELD’s fall, largely responsible for what it did and didn’t do. To experience the kinds of things that happen when there is no accountability- in Lagos, with Ultron, with SHIELD- and then have most of you say “oh, fuck that” when it becomes clear that the body and damage counts are just too high, broke my trust in this team to be heroes. To even be friends.

“Power without consequence is a recipe for chaos, one that you all willingly followed to the letter. I don’t trust those sorts of people at all. And if I don’t trust you, I really have nothing to say to you,” Rhodey says, sitting back. The faces of those around the table looks… strange. Most of them had hints of anger, of disappointment, and of understanding. Steve looks mullish. Tony looks at Steve. Before he can continue, Wanda speaks up. Her face has gotten more and more stony throughout the conversation.

“Why does it matter if you don’t trust us?” she asks Rhodey, “It’s not like you can fight, and it looks like you’re only here to be Stark’s cheerleader.”

“Mr. Stark. He, unlike you, is actually still an Avenger, and that’s all there is to it. If you have an issue with his Avengers status, you can organize a protest,” Tony drawls, sounding much calmer, and more relaxed than he’s feeling. What he wants to do is smack a bitch, but he’s not going to go there.

“Protest? Didn’t someone mention a process for this sort of thing?”

“Yes, and that process is for Avengers. Not you. You aren't even cleared to leave the Tower after the giant clusterfuck that was the Civil war. So if you want to protest someone’s inclusion onto the team, you will have to go about the way people had to go about it with you, since you weren’t there to aggravate your career as a superhero into an early grave,” Rhodey says, leaning forward a bit.

“Well? Do you have anything to say that would make any of that false?” Tony asks, just waiting for the:

“Bucky was innocent. I had to protect him.” There it is!

“If you had to protect him, you would never have said “fuck the government”.”

“There was a kill order!”

“There was not a kill order. Who the hell said that?” There’s silence as Steve begins to shift uncomfortably. Sam looks over at him.

“Sharon Carter,” the black man murmurs. Tony cocks an eyebrow. Then pulls out his phone.

“Remember when I said I created an algorithm to help us seek out the remaining SHIELD agents and figure out if they’re HYDRA or not? And you said you didn’t want it?” Steve nods, numb.

“Congratulations. Your girlfriend has a 74% chance of being HYDRA.” Steve looks down at his hands, baffled. 

“Well, I guess the kill order thing makes it a little easier to swallow, but there’s a whole lot that went on besides that. So now that you have your answer as to why we can’t all be friends again, is the meeting adjourned or did you all want to add your comment in?”

“I want to apologize,” Sam says. He looks at Rhodey.

“You were right about accountability, and I was wrong to ignore it. I’m sorry.” Tony nods, and, after another once over, stands. Then sits.

“And another thing if you ever fucking fuck with any part of my building again, I’m kicking you out on your ass. Leave the elevators, the cameras, and the vents alone.”

“Can you at least promise me you’ll try?” Steve says.

“Try what?”

“To be friends.” Tony snorts, and JOCASTA moves after him. Rhodey turns an eye on the other remaining Avengers.

“I’m going to point out that you have absolutely no right to demand or seek promises from Doctor Stark for any reason. Have a good day,” Rhodey states. He rises, and Vision follows, looking lost in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now that some people have some things off their chest, tune in next time for the thought process of Vision!


	6. Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vision and Rhodey contemplate the situation

The next day, as Rhodey and Vision get into the back of their car, fresh off a PT appointment and on the way back to their apartment, Vision still has that look on his face.

“Alright, spill. You’ve been pensive since yesterday’s meeting.”

“Captain Roger’s reputation precedes him in many things,” Vision says.

“Yes.” Rhodey gets a bit excited. Distasteful as the subject matter is, it always thrills him when Vision makes a connection. Human interaction is difficult to him because he’s just not that illogical. Not only is his evolution fascinating, it’s also amazing from the view of seeing his best friend’s child go from a good thing to an amazing human being.

“He seems very determined to be friends with Mr. Stark.”

“Yes.”

“If I did not see his injuries from Siberia, one would think that Mr. Stark is merely being immature; that they’d only had a minor spat, exaggerated by government intervention.”

“Yes.”

“I believe I know why the majority of the Captain’s team chose him.”

“Why?” Rhodey asks, because maybe hearing the android say it will make things clearer.

“Because the Captain’s reputation precedes him, even with those he knows. When that reputation is one of a virtuous man- as close to a genuine paragon as possible, well, it doesn’t surprise me that he swayed so many to do what seems like a very foolish endeavor.”

Tony isn’t a paragon. Tony is… a billionaire. Genius. Playboy. Philanthropist. His reputation has always been built on what he could and would do- his no-holds-barred ambition, his sparkling, shiny stage show. The substance, quick and powerful and well harnessed, that backed the rest has always had an unattainable quality to it. 

All his life, it has made him the most attractive, magnetic person in the room. But what does the complexity of Tony Stark, which inevitably makes people feel that he is not only the best but also untouchable by meer plebeian pursuits (like needing friends) have on the pure goodness of Captain America? Captain America: a man who’s still just a mouthy shit from Brooklyn in his own mind, showing up in articles as such, when Tony is from anywhere and everywhere you want him to be from? 

Rhodey realizes that people assume that Tony the Savant is not as good as Steve the Paragon. They subconsciously prioritize one over the other, because it seems like Steve is much less dangerous. Much less likely to betray. It clicks into place.

“I… that makes sense, actually. Thank you.”

“Why?”

“Because when you think about things, they always come out different; with more clarity,” Rhodey says as the car finally gets the chance to pull out into traffic.

“Do you think the Captain’s reputation proceeds him, even to Tony?” Vision asks after a while. They’re almost home; haven’t talked all that much, as per usual.

“You know what? It probably does.” It would certainly explain why they’re in Stark Tower, after all.

 

…

 

Later, he and Vision are sitting in their shared living room, watching the TV. This time they’re watching My Little Pony, of all things, because Vision enjoys figuring out and applying the internal logic of movies and this is what he picked. Rhodey likes listening to him break down whatever he’s seeing. 

On a whim, Rhodey opens up Youtube, and they get a kick out of going  and watching Nerdwriter and the Film Theorist.

After that came videos about writing and videos about colors and videos about everything under the sun and they get beers and pop popcorn and just keep watching stuff made by people who know these things better than they. 

It’s 6:45 a.m. by the time Rhodey realizes that, for the first time, that peculiar, ever present tension that has been between himself and Vision since the airport has gone, so Rhodey doesn’t go to bed because he’s not really tired. They just keep exploring the internet.

It’s not much- the Android has more guilt than he knows what to do with, but Rhodey thinks they’re both going to be alright.

…

 

Tony climbs out of the back of his car, Happy there to provide an umbrella. As always, he’s got his sunglasses and full suit on. It’s getting late in the year though- approaching mid October, so a heavy coat sits on his shoulders. He very deliberately does not wear orange, both because it looks bad with his skin and because everywhere he goes, it’s pumpkins all around.

A staffer meets him at the door- a big dude in black pants and boots and a button-down, his own jacket and scarf done up to the chin.

“Mr. Stark. I’m glad you could make it.”

“As am I, Mr. Jones,” Tony says, taking his hand where their umbrellas meet. Quickly, they head towards the building, hoping to out pace any sudden bursts of wind. As the doors close behind them, Jones undoes his coat and leaves the scarf hanging loose around his neck.

“Would you like coffee, sir?”

“In a to-go cup so we can walk and talk. And another for Happy, too,” Tony says as happy sets down their overlarge umbrella just inside the glass front doors of the Compound. Other staffers criss cross the hallway, and while most of them have never seen Tony Stark, it was common knowledge that he owned the building, and being idolized (visibly, anyways) would be uncomfortable. Evidently, they’d been prepared, because no one stops and gawks.

Jones takes them to a large cafeteria, where he collects, on Tony’s dime, three large cups of coffee, dark roast across the board. Then it’s time to get down to business.

“As you know the standard dormitories are all set up, and all we’re waiting on, security wise, is your work,” Jones begins as he takes them to the far end of the ground floor, where a set of pneumatic doors marked “Staff” sits quietly, a scanner to one side. Alongside that, all the common rooms have been completed, cameras installed, and what not. 

“The only thing we’re really waiting on is your input, since everything important but the AI and your personal labs have been installed, and the building should be all polished and what not in three weeks,” he goes on, leading them through the much less aesthetically pleasing wide staff hallway and out on the other side of the building to where there are offices interspersed with meeting. Jones, like most people Tony Stark has not had to fire before he finished working with them, is good at predicting what needs to happen before hand

“How’s the recruitment going?” Tony asks. The last time he and Jones had exchanged an email or two, he’d been struggling with figuring out what ordinary humans would make it on a superhuman security detail.

“It’s mostly people from SI’s astonishingly overflowing security department, though I should probably mention that, though they all came back clean as a whistle, a fair few of our potential applicants expressed a distinct liability having to do with the actions of other superheroes,” Jones says. 

It doesn’t surprise Tony. The clean agents who’d been burned in the SHIELD fallout had been burned badly, some of their families getting eaten up in the inferno. Given that those who elected not to retire at the conclusion of their scrambled rescues and what not actually ended up at SI security, it would not surprise them to show at least some sort of anger for superheroes in general, but for Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov in particular.

“Understandable,” Tony says as Jones swipes his badge and sees Tony and Happy into a conference room with a handful of people at the table. 

“Hello, everyone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think!


	7. Reassignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new Avengers discuss the old Avengers.

“Mr. Stark,” most of them greet.

“Captain Danvers. Miss Jones. Doctor Foster. Doctor Strange. It’s nice to see you all again,” Tony says as he takes a seat and begins to set up.

“How are you, Dr. Stark?” Foster asks. 

“Good,” he answers as he types in the code for his laptop and an connects it to the projector at the center of the table. It’s to quiet for Foster to believe him, though. He stops a sigh and takes another drink of his coffee. He’s totally going to get interrogated.

“Okay, as much as we could all totally make nice conversations, let’s just get this over with.” The faces of the rogue Avengers pop up on the screen.

“As of now, these people are back in the US, pardoned, and living in the Tower. They can’t stay there.”

“What are they doing?” Captain Danvers asks. Tony likes that she doesn’t ask him why, just what they’ve been doing.

“Aside from hacking into my cameras? Forcing confrontation, ignoring my wishes, and trying to make the “Civil War” seem more ‘oh it was a big misunderstanding’ and less ‘lets completely jump off the fucking deep end’,” Tony says, sitting back in his seat and taking another drink.

“Sounds like an issue with responsibility, an issue with authority, an issue with teamwork, an issue with respect, and an issue with communication,” Captain Danvers notes. The others nod as Friday queues up the relevant footage and they all watch the shit show that was the elevator stopping, and the attempts at making contact with Tony.

“Tony, were they always like this? When Thor told me stories about you guys, all it seemed like was you and Steve had a healthy rivalry going on,” Jane asks, and Rhodey is nodding. He had more or less played willing listener to hear how Tony was doing without the filtering of his best friend.

“Ah… it was there before; I had to revoke access to my labs over it, but it didn’t start getting bad until Ultron,” Tony explains.

“Bad how?”

“Like hacking my systems on more than one occasion, spying on me from the vents, occasionally snatching my tablet or phone out of my hand, coming down to the lab to stare inside and see what I’m working on,” Tony says as he types, looking for his next projection. He misses the looks shared around the table.

“That’s… jesus. Why did you stay?” Darcy says. She entered the room sometime during the last minute or so. Tony shrugs one shoulder as he rearranges the holograms to provide basic info on each of the Exvengers.

“Making killer robots will do that to a guy.”

“Yeah, but snatching your things? What is this? Kindergarten?”

“It’s not that bad. I didn’t even spend a lot of time on the common floor,” Tony dismisses. Strange, who has not said anything the entire time, but who has been staring with a stupid amount of intensity, leans forward.

“They are not acting as heroes should,” he states. Captain Danvers shakes her head.

“No, they aren’t. And they haven’t been for a while now,” Jane agrees, and Tony wonders if he’s not the only one with a lecture in his future.

“So what do you want to do about it? Personally, I’m telling you right here and now, I am not fighting with any of them. I can be on the comms, but sticking me in the field with them is a powder keg waiting to explode,” Tony says, taking another drink for courage. He can just hear the discontent, hear the arguments about how he should move on. No one in the room says anything, though. A couple nod in what he likes to think is agreement.

“That being said, we can’t not have them on the roster in some capacity because they are, politically speaking, invaluable with regard to those who have yet to sign the Accords and are on the fence. Too often, people genuinely have been misused and abused by the government. With the media as involved as they are, it half looks like Rogers stood up and fought the good old fight.”

“So, to simplify,” Captain Danvers says as she picks up her own tablet and begins to use the stylus on it in quick, jabbing motions, “our solution to the Exvengers Issue is to have them acting in a superhero capacity, with the utmost regard to Dr. Stark’s safety and privacy, in such a way as to keep things from blowing up long enough to settle the Accords.” 

Tony gets this weird feeling. This meeting is utterly alien. He has literally never noted issues within the team or with potential team members that proceeded as this discussion has. Never. In fact, almost all mentions of politics got at least one person Raging Against the Machine. Sure, before Ultron, he usually got at least part of his way in the end, but it was verbal warfare to get there.

“And the rest of the Avengers? As far as I am concerned, those in this room can hold their ground, but do we really want such a large group of problematic people joining the team when it’s already small and our pool of applicants isn’t much larger?”

“What if we slowed it down? I mean, politically speaking, they must be pardoned and technically on the team, but as long as their outlook is good in the eyes of the world, they don’t have to be in the field, right?” Darcy says from where she’s leaned over in her seat to sit coffee in Jane’s space. Tony gives one good, long look at the intern and then says:

“Hey. I think I want you on my nerd squad in your own right.” He gets a smirk for that one before Tony turns back to consider the issue.

“She’s right, all things considered,” Stephen says, “I know Wanda has a habit of unethical uses of power and a history of Hydra employment. It may be better to find her a tutor for her magic and the education she definitely doesn’t have than to put her on the team. You know: the Better Yourself path and what not. Though not my Better Yourself path. That would be a terrible idea.” Tony almost laughs.

“Lagos and Bucharest should give us solid ground for that, right?” Carol Danvers asks, still tapping away on her tablet.

“Yeah. The world’s superheroes need to see flexibility, but the world at large also needs to see responsibility,” Tony notes.

“I like that,” Stephen says where he’s looking at videos of Wanda in action, “but I don't think I like her. I would need to see the mind stone myself- figure out how it works- in order to tutor her.”

“So we put her on the back burner- homeschool her and what not while we find a solution,” Jane speaks up. Her brush with the aether had given her similarly uncontrolled, not-understood powers. The only thing they’d been able to get for her was a necklace made of a sort of metal that neutralized her abilities so she could work on her cure. Or wait until Thor came back to punch him in his big fucking face for leaving her again. Either way.

“True.”

“We should probably look at wards or something for the mind stuff she does,” Stephen notes from where he’s sitting next to Darcy.

“Is that going to be something you’re doing?”

“I’ll ask Wong. Hey if I have other magic people you would like, how would I go about getting them on the team?”

“I trust your judgement. You would just need to fill out the paperwork and go through the gamut of legalities for each of them. And they would have to sign the Accords. Given the nature of your order, though, it may be better to come up with a different solution.” Stephen nods.

“I don’t like the idea of someone so magically powerful living around so many people who are not. Not with her history.” Jane says.

“Yeah.” Tony says, and it’s said so nonchalantly that Stephen starts to suspect something. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.

“Well that’s one,” Darcy comments, all chirpy after a few moments of somber silence have gone by. Tony likes her. She’s like him, only she’s not constantly fucking anxious all the damn time. Or maybe she is, but Tony doesn’t think so.

“Widow?”

“I don’t want her back in the field at all,” Carol says, “I’ve read her record. Up until the Avengers- up until you, Tony- her record was perfect. Now she’s doing shit like double crosses in view of everyone and falling for the whole “Just a Small Guy From Brooklyn” thing? I don’t like it.”

“Well, she was one of the less visible Avengers before that senate hearing of hers. Her reputation is more fallen than angel. We can hold off on her, too, and see if something comes up.”

“Barton’s got family, doesn’t he? Our best angle might be focusing on that for him. Let him cool his feet a bit, remember what he left behind. His wife’s fucking scary. She’ll talk some sense into him.” Tony’s already nodding his assent. He’s glad he’s not the only one both scared and respectful of Laura Barton. That’s good. 

He can still hear Barton’s words aboard the Raft. It wears him out so fast, people who are just so angry with him no matter where the true blame lies. It’ll be good to see him gone and owning his shit (Laura would see to that).

“Ditto for Scott. Actually, he might be worth taking a closer look at. As far as I can tell, he kinda got hijacked into the hero game, but is otherwise pretty solid, mental health and personality wise, even if he did go to jail, before this whole debacle. It’s likely he just got lead astray by Captain America,” Tony interjects.

“Plus, you know, Cassie Lang needs her dad. I’ve been in contact with Hope van Dyne over it. Evidently he wrote a letter about fighting for the right causes and then just ghosted away. If we can get him to do that in a more legal way, he might actually be a good ally. Oh, and I want another nerd.” Most of the people in the room smile at that. Jokes like that didn’t used to work. Sometimes the answering quip was something like “don’t be selfish” and not a quip at all.

“Where are the families?” Danvers says, leaning around the holograms to look at Tony. Her gaze is curious, not harsh. It’s startling.

“Hiding. I’ve been working on Mr. Ross, the older, for his role in the Hulk’s long sojourns as a fugitive and his handful of damage heavy appearances. That little black-bag thing he pulled during the Accords was counting his eggs before they hatched, and now that the Avengers cannot be used to keep him in business, I’ve actually got a court date with his name on it.”

“Smart.”

“Yeah.” Been awhile since someone said that without sarcasm or anger.

“So…,” Stephen says, tilting his head as he looks up at the holograms.

“That leaves us Captain America.”

“Fun fact: he never made it through boot camp,” Tony quips. 

“Are you serious?” Danvers asks, leaning around to see him again.

“Oh, yeah. They popped him into the experiment, got out big, blond, and hot, and then sent him on a tour with all those girls. Didn’t fight till he damn near got Howard and Peggy Carter killed flying into enemy territory. Captain America was just a stage name for selling War Bonds.”

“We have lots and lots of options with that fact,” Darcy says with a bit of a manic smile. If Tony was dumb, he’d say that Darcy’s a bit protective over him.

“Well, we know the military discharged him… and him technically gaining that back would be a good idea, appearances wise. We could probably reach out and have them send a couple of their people over to train him; give credence to the name and what not.”

“We could also place him under your direct supervision,” Strange suggests. Danvers would know what to do with an upstarting, over glorified not-captain soldier.

“We could. In all honesty, there’s enough holes in all of their existences to keep them tied up with the little things everyone glossed over for years. Our biggest issue will be a conflict of interest.”

“As long as you don’t make it about me, we should all be good. In fact, I’m putting you in charge of this stuff,” Tony says, nodding at Carol.

“We do the homework right, keep it fair and professional from this point onward, and we’ll be good to go,” Foster says.

“Oooh professionalism. Am I going to have to act like an adult?” Darcy quips.

“I think I’m going to look into Widow,” Jones says. For the first time since Tony has walked in, she says something.

“I’ll get you a number in case you need bigger resources.” Tony says. He knows first hand about wanting people to forget you were ever there. He bids the new core of the Avengers goodbye and turns to leave.

“A moment, Mr. Stark?” Stephen says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so for clarity's sake: Jessica is not actually a "core" avenger, leader wise. Tony just happens to know and trust her. I also never watched Jessica Jones, so sorry if she's a bit ooc. :)   
> Please drop me a comment/concrit.


	8. Overstepping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen Strange makes a mistake. Wong is the voice of reason. Tony doesn't take anything well.

Doctor Stephen Strange is dressed in a suit, not his tunic. He can’t say the press of fitted fabric doesn’t feel good in a nostalgic sort of way; it’s something to do with a… not a return to normalcy, but like what is “normal” has evolved and Stephen will be just fine in this new world. In any case, he’s dressed in a fitted suit, and he looks good. He’s all long, slim lines like he was born to stride into the lobby of Stark Tower and request a meeting with Doctor Anthony Stark, please. 

His name gains him access to a small waiting room, and he is content to wait a few minutes before being instructed to use the elevator on the far left to reach floor 65. As the numbers begin to rise, Stephen closes his eyes and just breathes. After several moment’s concentration, at floor 23, he draws a small rune in the air with his minutely shaking fingers. The burning amber-orange symbol dissolves into a thousand little particles, and suddenly, Strange can sense.

He can feel the life forces of every human in the building; he can sense the bright flames of souls at the height of their lives and minds, the more dim ones of older, ailing men and women. The altogether unique presence of those changed beyond normal human aura draws his attention. It is what this outing is truly about. 

Stephen senses steel- aged, frosted steel, and thinks- knows- that he is sensing, for the first time, Captain America. Near him is a darker version that is somehow both younger and older, and stronger besides. Something that has been burned before as well. Sergeant Barnes, most likely. The third flame in the room is more burned, more frost, and less stable, than either of them; likely Ms. Romanov, given her history. Thanks to Miss Jones’ excellant work, he’s learning more and more of that. 

In another part of the thirty first floor is a man whose aura can only be described as frenetic. Like he is much more in tune with his body than anyone else and is at peace with the movement. Needs it, in fact. Mr. Barton, probably. A fifth aura stands out that makes Stephen think of bugs and grass and living things. Sam Wilson, via process of elimination.

Finally, though, there is one whose aura is all red. Red like the rarest of moons. Red like anger. Red like blood. Red like carnations, scattering in the wind. Red like a mind all high on life and flowing in the moment. And that red is everywhere. Wanda Maximoff. At the feeling, Stephen’s breath catches in his breast, and he tries not to lose his balance. She is strong, and she is festering.

The elevator doors open, and Tony Stark is standing there. If he’s doing his own makeup, he’s certainly a dab hand at it. Stephen knows it’s almost certainly there, but can’t see it. Stark is in a black suit and matching turtleneck, a gold chain so thin it’s almost like silk peeking out from the fabric. It’s a good look on him. 

“Doctor Strange. What can I do for you?” Tony asks. Stephen looks at him for a long moment- looks at his subtle makeup, at his fingers that seem thinner than a man of his strength ought to have.

“I suppose I should ask for your forgiveness first and foremost.” Stark’s face shutters.

“What did you do?”

“Occasionally I get hunches… I trusted one in the elevator, and performed a small spell that would allow me to see the auras of everyone in the Tower. I believe, from that rune alone, that you are in danger from those on the thirty first floor, Mr. Stark.” The billionaire takes a step back from him, anger pulling his eyebrows down, mouth tightening. He looks a decade older, now.

“What the hell gave you the right?”

“Nothing, and no one. It is, however, part of my job to make sure no one is… abusing the power magic grants.” Stephen says, watching him, waiting for what he’ll do about it. Stark is still backing up, and Stephen thinks he may have made a much greater mistake than he thought he even could, based on how it’s only foundation that keeps Stark’s face from paling. Stephen’s hands are shaking in a more pronounced way.

“I apologize. I had not-”

“Get out.” Surely not? Invasion of privacy (ish) aside, Stark is a very pragmatic man. How could he-

“Stark.”

“Now. Don’t come back here ever.” Stephen wants to reach out, to take in his arms a man he has only ever heard things about, or worked with in a business sense. He wants to calm him down and make it better. He… he is emotional? Tony isn’t having it, though. Behind him, coming up to support him, is a robot with a shiny white casing, whose arms and hands are very advanced.

“JOCASTA, FRIDAY, initiate lockdown protocol level one.”

“Yes, sir,” they chime in unison. Stephen wants to tell Tony to not be so dramatic, that this kind of magic is common place for him. That he only apologized because he knows that Tony isn’t used to it, but he can also see that this sort of thing is useless now, and it doesn’t make anything okay. He dips his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, walking back into the elevator.

 

…

 

“It seems he has a history of having his privacy invaded,” Wong says as he pours the tea. He watches, impassive, as Stephen paces, Cloak just as agitated despite not being there.

“Yes, but you’d think that actual danger coming from his…  _ houseguests _ ,” he fumes as he turns on his heel and walks back the way he’d come, “would inspire him to maybe get past that!” Wong slips a tea bag into the cups and watches the brown slowly infuse in the hot water. 

“You can hardly control the way he reacts.”

“He’s in literal danger and he’s just sitting there!”

“Sit down, Stephen, and drink your tea. At this rate, you will overexert yourself.” 

“I don’t wanna sit, I want to make it right!”

“You can’t do that, right now, and you are not in the right frame of mind to come up with anything not hairbrained. Sit down. Now.” Cloak gives a warning tug, and Stephen acquiesces. 

“How do I help someone like that? You… you weren’t there, but he just looked so damn  _ thin _ and he’s all alone up there.”

“You will need a better way, which I cannot provide you. Drink your tea. Take the night. Then start coming up with solutions in the morning.”

…

 

Tony is squeezed back into the far corner of his closet, behind the long winter coats he keeps up here. These days, he wears them around the house as much as he does out in the street, he’s so cold. His chest hurts because he’s breathing so hard, hands shaking where they grip the thin gold chain. He’d had a panic attack in the hallway between the livingroom and his bedroom, and had come in here to hide.

After a bit, the door opens and a heavy blanket is offered by JOCASTA’s hand.

“Thank you,” he mumbles as he pulls it over himself and sinks down, eyes slipping shut in the safety of his closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I would love to hear what you guys think of all this:)


	9. Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony continues to work his magic.

As the car traverses the long, broad road, Tony leans over a bit to look out of his window. Kids are playing in the trees about halfway to the house. Tony spots a tall and regal looking woman among them. He turns his attention to the path and his eyebrows raise. He knew it was like a fortress here, but he didn’t know there was an actual, honest to goodness castle. 

The car stops at the zenith of the circular drive. Tony’s driver, a stoic man handpicked by Happy, gets the door for him. The billionaire slides out, tilting his head back to take in everything, from simple carpet of grass and unlit lights on either side of the asphalt to the broad front steps and wheelchair ramp to the climbing ivy that gives the place an ancient-magic feeling. 

Tony starts up the steps, coat fluttering around him as the gray and windy day plays with the tail. The castle seems to huddle around it’s broad, oak doors. Tony raises his hand to knock, wondering if someone forgot about him, when the handle disengages before he can set fist to wood.

A tall, redheaded woman, face regal with age and all the more lovely with the maturity it shows, opens the door.

“Doctor Jean Grey, I presume?” Tony says. Jean smiles a bit and extends her hand. Tony takes it.

“Tony Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says with a genial smile. “Try as I so totally did, I haven’t read much about you,” he notes.

“Likewise, and good, respectively,” Jean says as she shuts the door behind him and turns to lead him through the large foyer.

“I thought you guys had kids running around?” Tony asks. It’s suspiciously empty right now.

“We do, but in the interest of not sending anyone to the infirmary or to detention, they’ve all been distracted.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I was not aware the Avengers have, as you put it, ‘kids running around’.” Tony shrugs, even though Doctor Grey can’t see him.

“Not as of yet, but there are fifteen year olds who are waking up with the ability to make people’s heads explode. Or implode, that too. Those people are too young to sign the Accords and too powerful to be left alone.”

“Many such cases do take classes here,” Doctor Grey offers up as she leads them to yet another finely aged wooden door.

“Professor? Are you still in there?”

“Yes, Doctor.” Jean twists the handle and pushes.

“Doctor Tony Stark here to see you, sir.” Tony’s eyebrows quirk.

“So you have read about me.”

“You’ve been in the papers for longer than I’ve been alive,” Jean says. Though she doesn’t seem inclined to play along, Tony thinks he feels a smile. He sets a hand over his chest, just under the knot of his dark gold tie.

“You wound me. I’ll have you know that I’ve actually been in the papers for longer than I’ve been alive.” Professor Xavier sees a smile on his best pupil as Tony comes forward and offers his hand.

“Tony Stark.”

“Charles Xavier.”

“It’s a pleasure.”

“That’s very likely. Thank you Jean.”

“No problem, sir.” The door closes quietly as Tony takes a seat.

“I find it interesting that after the fiasco involving the original Avengers, you now mysteriously become aware of a school housing mutants,” Charles says. His voice is serious, but not accusatory. Tony shrugs.

“Truth be told, I’ve been aware for years, but it never seemed like the right time to reach out. Now though, now the situation is sticky. You’re aware that the former Avengers have returned?”

“No, I wasn’t.” Tony nods.

“Well, you weren’t supposed to. In a few weeks, the Avenger’s Compound will be ready, and they’ll all be moved in there, along with the New Avengers, Avengers Affiliates, Consultants- that’s me, by the way- and what not.”

“I take it you foresee problems?”

“Lots of problems, buckets of them, even,” Tony says, dry and with a small smile. “But most of those are besides the point, though let the record show I’m acknowledging a lot of issues with teamwork in the coming months.”

“That is too bad. I can see a lot of work has gone into the Avengers as a whole.” Tony shrugs.

“It’s neither here nor there,” he admits, voice falling silent as the door opens. Jean enters with a tea tray.

“Doctor Grey is cleared to hear whatever I am cleared to here, Doctor.”

“Okay, good deal. In any case- I’m looking at a lot of problems in the future, and the biggest, most explosive one that could occur has to do with mutants and the Accords.”

“That does sound like a giant problem.”

“Well it will be in six months. Right now, though, it’s a twinkle in someone’s eye.”

“What do you propose?”

“You have a few high-visibility mutants, such as the Wolverine and yourself- people not easily taken advantage of, that I would like to sign the this current draft of the Accords. There’s a small clause there that I’m calling the Good Faith Clause which basically states that you can take the Accords for a test drive and get in on the amendment process. 

“It keeps the current and past versions from pressing anyone who say, signed because they believed in the idea but were unsure of the practicality, from being punished if the Accords were used to press them into doing something like submitting to the Mutant Registration Act, as far as you go, and the Superhuman Registration Act, as far as people like Captain Marvel go.”

“And you?”

“I’m sure you saw that fun Senate hearing where they tried to rope me into handing over all my Iron Man related patents, including Arc Reactor technology?” Professor Xavier nods as Jean finishes with the tea and takes a seat next to Tony.

“Ross, the elder, who would love to get his hands on the Hulkbuster Armor I used in Johannesburg, managed to write in a clause that would allow him to seize that and anything else he felt he might need to stop wayward teammates.”

“And you signed with that clause?”

“Like I said: Good Faith Clause. It’s the legal equivalent of ‘I’m Ready To Take Responsibility, But I Won’t Be Fucked Over’.” That earns him smiles.

“As you noted before, Doctor Stark,” Jean interrupts as she takes a sip of her tea, “We have a lot of children who cannot be expected to sign a document like the Accords.”

“That’s where the big problem is, and that’s where I come in.” Tony opens his briefcase, which had sat innocuously by one calf the entire time, and hands out two of his folders.

“What you’re looking at is the September Foundation, which I actually had to make up to borrow a certain under-aged superhero and is now totally legitimate because that could have gone extremely badly.”

“This is a scholarship program.”

“Technically. For my first ‘applicant’, if you will, it definitely was. For my heir, it was more of a network to get him into contact with others like him. I intend to use it as a sort of Junior Accords thing, which would allow for the responsibility that is the backbone of the document we’re currently amending without actually requiring signatures. 

“I want to go into a sort of partnership which would by and large place the Xavier institute under the September Foundation, excusing all underaged persons from the Accords and from legal troubles now associated with the use of abilities without a signature. I have a handful of people already in the September Foundation, which you can meet if you want. I’m thinking of calling them the Junior Avengers.”

_ He seems very earnest _ , Jean notes. Xavier does not flinch as he reads through the September Foundation’s info packet.

_ Yes, he does. Ask him about the rest of it. _

“And the teamwork issue?”

“I was thinking of heading it off by making the Avengers too big for the returning rogues to damage, no matter what they do. Right now, there’s myself, Doctor Strange, Captain Marvel, War Machine, and someone who I do not have permission to give the name of. We’ve got a few potentials, such as the Defenders and Daredevil, but when the team integrates fully, it’s looking to be a possibly bloody, definitely damaging grudge match. 

“Not only that, but I kinda really admire some of you guys and I want to work with you. Like a lot.” Xavier smiles. It’s funny, how Mr. Stark can switch from seasoned businessman to fangirling teenager in about half a second.

_ I like him. _ Xavier looks up at Stark, and wonders how he’s doing in that big, lonely tower.

“So where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie doke, and that's this week, guys. I know you all really want to see the shit hit the fan, but I'm setting it up:) I think next week is when things get really bad for Tony.


	10. Many Happy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Exvengers get nosy. An old friend comes back.

Tony sighs, glad to be out of the presence of two powerful telepaths. He trusts Xavier, and, by extension, Grey, to not read his mind, but old fears don’t follow new logic. Tony quickly walks into his lobby, sunglasses down low over his eyes as he waits for the carriage.

“Tony,” his body straightens up like he’s been electrocuted.

“No.”

“Please,” Steve says from behind him.

“Just get in the elevator, Stark,” Wanda says from somewhere to his left. No wonder no one has taken noticed that Tony Stark has just been taken hostage in his own goddamn elevator.

“God you people are worse than the fanatics,” he gripes. “You are the reason why I need security these days. Not Becky who sent me poisoned tea last year so we could be together forever.” Tony steps inside, already highly irritated.

Evidently not all of the frack pack have chosen to be present for this endeavor, as it’s just the three of them.

“Thirty first floor.”

“I’m not going to the thirty first floor.” The floor with their living areas in it. “At this point,  I’m not even comfortable with the thirty third floor.”

“Well, no one’s comfortable with you coming, anyways, so let’s just get this over with,” Wanda snaps. Tony falls silent, trying to center himself, trying to remind himself that Siberia was a one off deal, that no one will do that again. 

But he’s remembering Ultron, now, and how some nightmare was not a good reason for the killer robot, and how after that it seemed like even when the sheer reliability of his expertise couldn’t even get his opinion or, hell, even his facts heard. He’s remembering all the accidental slips of magic Wanda had before Civil War. Back before Tony had learned that there was no reaching her. He’s-

The elevator doors open. Tony doesn’t bother pretending not to know what’s going on. He allows Cap to lead him to the living room, wondering if it would be better to call for help now or later. He’s led to the living room.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Tony?” Steve says. 

“No. I don’t intend to stay. Actually, I didn’t even intend to attend, but apparently that part doesn’t matter, since it’s me and all.” Wanda snorts, and her magic jumps and cracks like electricity around her. Tony can’t help but flinch as he moves away, into the least approachable part of the room.

“Stop that,” he says. Wanda’s magic only gets angrier.

“It happens when she’s worried, Tony,” Steve says as he comes back from their kitchen with a glass of water. He holds it out. Tony just looks at it and him. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Does it ever?” he says, and he’s suddenly so worn already that he honestly just wants to fucking die. 

“You think very loudly,” Wanda notes as Clint and Widow walk in, trailed by Scott. Tony’s lips purse together.

“Get out of my head.”

“I am. You think very loudly.”

“You can’t blame her for what she can’t control, Stark. She isn’t you,” Clint says as he takes his own seat, a brown beer bottle in his hand. It’s sweating against his palm. Tony can see part of the Corona label.

“The only time she loses control is when she’s around me. And I’m not discussing anything with you,” he hisses out as he eyes each of his one-time friends. How are ALL of them okay with this? Steven? Maybe. He’s desperate to get the band back together. Wanda? Loves to be a pain in the ass. But Natasha? And Clint?  _ Someone _ has got to wonder what the hell they’re doing. Even if it’s just Scott.

“We need to know what’s going on with the Avengers.”

“Nothing, yet, and you don’t need to know. The Accords Counsel has tasked me with figuring out what to do with you, and they want at least some of you back on the team. That is not a guarantee of private information that were part of private meetings which none of you had the clearance to attend.”

“Tony, we need to work together, not against each other.”

“You literally just kidnapped me in my own tower, and what the fuck did you do to FRIDAY, because you aren’t supposed to have this kind of autonomy.”

“Language.”

“Fuck-” he finds himself unable to speak. Tony turns to glare at Wanda. She looks bored. Steve is shaking his head. At him or Wanda, he doesn’t know, but he can fucking guess.

“Tony, we just need to know what’s going to happen to us. We’re tired of sitting around. We signed the Accords, we’ve been welcomed back, and now it’s time to get back into the saddle.” Tony raises his two middle fingers, turning to leave. Take his voice like he’s a goddamn- Steve is across the room before Tony can blink, hand on his elbow. He jerks, and rams a knee into his nuts. 

Steve evidently did not expect Tony to get violent, but that’s what happens and now Tony’s running. He tries to pull up the schematics in his head as he darts down the hall at full tilt, mind on complete panic mode as he pulls open the maintenance door and heads down, not up. Not into the privacy of his penthouse where anything can happen. Down to the lobby. Out into the street. Not alone not alone not alone not al-

He’s out cold, collapsing before he gets through the door.

 

…

 

“He plans to keep us all tied up in stupid things so he doesn’t have to fight with us!” Wanda says, pacing and angry. “I should have done more than looked through those meetings.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. Now that we know what to expect, we can plan for it,” Steven says, a calm voice in Wanda’s storm

“He’s going to court with Ross. He won’t make a move until then. After that, he intends to catch Clint and Scott up in family matters, as if they are  _ worthless _ , and he wants to make me go to school, as though I need the education  _ he _ offers, and he’s having Natasha investigated like she’s… she’s…  _ corrupted _ , and he wants to make you _ submit _ to Carol Danvers,” she says, spitting out that last sentence.

“Wanda-”

“I thought we were going to be back doing Avenging,” she says, sinking down on the couch with a miserable expression, her eyes on Tony where he lays supine on the couch, unconscious, “instead he does everything he can to ruin us.”

“I don’t think he’s trying to ruin us, Wanda. Tony has always been good at damage control,” Natasha soothes.

“He won’t even bring us on until he has the members for it. You know he was talking to some telepath today? Two of them? Talking about something called the September Foundation. He met with a sorcerer who spied on us. I don’t understand why it is so easy for him to go and be around strangers that do what I do, but treat me like the villain.”

“Wanda, we need to calm down, and I need to know exactly what he said.” She looks at Tony with a look of pure disgust.

“Fine.”

 

…

 

Tony wakes up with a headache, asleep in his own bed. God, he’s got a migraine. He must have been more tired than he thought after that meeting with Professor Xavier.

 

…

 

The only reason- and he does mean the only reason- that Bruce Banner is back, is because the rest of the Avengers are. He had gotten worried when a week had gone by before word got out that Stark was recuperating, and he had gotten even more worried when he’d heard that the wayward team had signed the Accords. As such, he’d packed up his belongings, left his medical supplies with the smart kid he’d been training to take his place when he inevitably left the village he was working in, and boarded a rickety, almost inoperable plane as one of four passengers.

The journey from the airport to the Tower had been long and harrowing, and he was hungry by the time he got to where he needed to be. Hoping that Ross hadn’t somehow managed to take over the Tower, Bruce walks up to the front desk, his two sets of dirty clothing and various necessities in a wearing canvas bag.

“Bruce Banner, to see Tony Stark.” The woman- a new one from the last time Bruce had stepped into his lobby, looks up and gestures Bruce into the smaller, private waiting room. He waits for fifteen minutes, and takes one of the waters

“Mr. Stark will see you now. He’s in his office. Take the far left elevator.”  Bruce spends the entire ride up doing breathing exercises. Wanda won’t set the Hulk off. Not here. Not now. Tony won’t be too angry with him. Whether Bruce deserves it or not (and he does, he knows), Tony had never had it in him to hold things against Bruce, even when he should.

Stark doesn’t look good. He looks good, of course, but not Stark good. Not when Bruce is used to seeing a bouncy, over caffeinated, ecstatic inventor, now sitting behind a plain old desk, doing plain old paperwork.

“Tony-”

“What?” he asks. He doesn’t look up from his work. If anything, he begins to go faster.

“I’m sorry I left.”

“Let me save you the trouble: your floor is untouched. There. Now you don’t have to say sorry or pretend to care about what happened.”

“Tony, I do care, I was just too scared to come back and then by the time I maybe could have I was kidnapped and wound up having to fight my way home. From space. You know Thor is king now? And he doesn’t have his hammer but he does have an eyepatch and Loki rules with him. Joint kings. Can you imagine?”

“You know what?” Tony says, getting up and coming around his desk. This close, Bruce is in no doubt about Tony’s dietary habits, or lack thereof.

“What?”

“I don’t care about Thor and where he fucked off to, I don’t care about whose on the Asgardian Throne, and I sure as hell don’t care about you. So please do me a favor, and feel like my offer of your floor back is the end of the conversation.”

“Please don’t do this,” Bruce says, voice quiet and pleading where he’s standing just a few inches away.

“Why not?” and Tony is so close now, it’s like he’s not even afraid. Tony’s never been afraid. Not of Bruce. “Everyone knows you’ll  just run away again. Leave me to clean up everything again. You know when I think about you it usually goes something like ‘Bruce is a good guy. He was just scared’ but the more I think about it the more I realize that you and them? Exactly the same. When the going gets tough, leave some else to solve all your problems,” Tony says, and his voice and face are dead dead dead as he pulls out a card from his back pocket and hands it to him.

“Call the number. Introduce yourself. Get ready to jump through hoops. Now get out.”

“Tony-”

“Out. I know how much you hate to stay,” he orders, his voice so quiet and falsely sympathetic that Bruce knows not to brook a further argument.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Tony,” Bruce says as he takes the elevator to his floor. Someone had dusted. The perishables no longer sat in the fridge. Everything else was as Bruce left it. He sits down on the couch with his dirty bag and his dirty clothes by his feet, and realizes that, for the first time, he underestimated the impact his flight had caused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! The chapter I said ya'll were gonna lose your shit on! Comments? Concrit?


	11. Game Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is forgetting things. Bruce gets a chance to be there like he never was before. The New Avengers cotton on to Tony's strange behavior.

Carol Danvers is a respectful person, if nothing else. She greets Bruce with a handshake and leads him in through the halls of the Compound, finished, now. Tony refused to be apart of the meeting. As painful as it is to be living with, but not having, his friend, Bruce cannot bring himself to mention it. Tony is right. Bruce left, and the genius had to pick up the pieces.

When the captain opens the door to some meeting room or another, his eyebrows rise a bit. Everyone but Tony is inside. Or at least, everyone important. Doctor Strange reclines in the back, to the right of an empty chair. On the other side is Rhodey, and Bruce winces internally at the sight of the wheelchair. Another seat is taken up by a woman with black hair and a “fuck off” attitude, and a fourth by the oft-talked-of-but-never-seen Doctor Foster. The only empty chairs are the two closest to Bruce and the one at the other side of the table. 

“Take a seat,” Carol Danvers says as she takes a seat next to Strange.

“Doctor Banner, I presume,” says Strange, who Bruce is only just now meeting face to face.

“Yes.” For whatever reason, Strange doesn’t seem overly impressed with him, in a way one only is when they are actually severely displeased. There’s only one reason Bruce can think of that would make this man react like that, and it doesn’t have shit to do with Harlem.

“As well as the pleasantries are going,” Danvers says after a moment, “we need to get down to business. Doctor Banner. How much do you know about the Sokovia accords and the situation since then?”

“I know that they were mainly about taking accountability, that most of the team disagreed due to the rigidity, and that Ross is being taken to court for a lot of things in three weeks including, but not limited to, my extensive and explosive history with him and the Avenger’s illegal detainment in the Raft. 

“I know that Iron Man was heavily injured in Siberia for reasons unknown, and that the team is now back and living in the tower while others take up the mantle of the Avengers and, by extension, those duties the Rogue Avengers once held,” Bruce says all of this without inflection or judgement. He knows there’s something going on here by the way the sorcerer’s eyes watch him like he might turn out to be a predator after all.

“Why did you return?” Bruce’s mouth tightens, but he continues on.

“I was remiss… in my judgement when I disappeared after the Ultron debacle. I knew there was a possibility of the team being over hostile, but I was, for once, wrong in my decision to get out before I was kicked out.”

“You believe you were going to be kicked off the team?”

“Not kicked off necessarily, but punished in some way that would have been less than… ethical. I was also apprehensive of living with the Scarlet Witch, as it is her direct influence that lead to the Other Guy’s damages in Johannesburg, and I was fairly certain that my role in Ultron was all Ross needed to have me in the RAFT. By the time I may have talked myself into going back to check on Tony… well, I was already in space, so I don’t know that I would have done that at all.”

“But you came back now.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because for all my fears, I am not the one who has borne the brunt of peoples’ disapproval all these years. Tony never cared before, but sometimes there were days when that was just an act, though he wouldn't show me the truth. While I was in space, I had a lot of time to think, and I realized that I made the biggest mistake I could have made with regards to my friend.” Carol Danvers looks to Stephen, and to the rest of the assembled Avengers.

“How is he?”

“Distant. I went to talk to him when I arrived, and he told me my floor had been untouched, I needed to call a number he gave me, and to go away. I didn’t know what else to do but listen.”

“Well, that isn’t good,” Strange says. He’s still watching Bruce like he can’t decide whether or not to hate him.

“Aside from the obvious, what’s not good about it?” Bruce is praying his hunch is wrong; is praying that they’re just down there accepting their rejection. Is praying-

“We believe Tony is being spied on by the inhabitants of the thirty first floor. Your friends,” Strange says with a certain pointedness.

“I… how do we fix that? And if they think that’s okay, then they sure as hell aren’t my friends.”

“So you can be redeemed,” comes the woman with black hair’s voice.

“Let’s hope so,” Bruce says with all seriousness before he looks back at Strange.

“Tony’s a tech mogul; I’m going to go ahead and say it was magic.”

“Hmm. Nail on the head. Unfortunately, Tony’s already denied me permission to ward his floors after I told him I had used magic to look at all the auras in his building. Evidently, there’s a history of having his boundaries crossed.” Bruce hangs his head. He knew it.

“But he said nothing about you,” Stephen says with a sharp smile. It makes Bruce uneasy, but ultimately, if this is what it takes to root out the Rogue Avengers, then so be it.

“So how does it work?”

“I put lots and lots of spells and charms because you’re very afraid of the witch girl getting inside your head, and you go and put lots and lots of charms around your entire floor, which should block most, if not all, of her abilities, so he’s at least okay in his own bed.”

“Are we really going to lie?” Carol nods. Rhodey speaks.

“There’s something not quite right about Tony’s head right now. He won’t let Stephen ward his floors, won’t move out because it feels like he’s losing something… it could just be his ego, but there’s something too irrational to justify this. The last time he was this uncaring of his health and wellbeing, he was dying of palladium poisoning. 

“We get to the bottom of this, and we can tell Tony, but right now he’s beginning to pose a threat to himself, which overrides his say in how we go about things. Besides, in the case of an emergency, I am designated to make medical decisions for him,” Rhodey says. Bruce is nodding before he’s finished. For the first time Danvers smiles.

“Good,” Says the woman who hardly speaks, “welcome to Operation: What The Fuck?”

 

…

 

As if compelled, Tony steps out of the elevator on the thirty first floor. Steve is alone in the kitchen.

“Tony,” he says, looking up from his phone, “what can I get for you?”

“Nothing,” Tony says around the irrational fear that something very wrong happened while he was out, “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“How did you meetings go today?” Steve says, and he looks a little worried, like he’s not quite sure what’s going on.

“Good. I, um… ah…” Tony say, words failing. He could have sworn he meant to go up to his floor. He’s not exactly sure how he got to the thirty first floor. Not exactly sure it’s a bad thing, though maybe it is? Steve stands up and leads Stark to a seat at the table, his hand bleeding warmth through Stark’s business suit.

“Are you okay, Tony?”

“Just tired,” the billionaire says distractedly. He’s still worried something monstrous occured here, he’s just not sure what.

“Okay. Are you hungry?” He ignores that question, looking around instead.

“Where are the others?” he asks, eyebrows drawn down over his eyes. They’re a team. Yeah, they’ve had a bad beak, but they should be together and why aren’t they here? Maybe they’re dead? Sick? Has Tony been neglecting them? He has, hasn’t he? Spending too much time with his new team an-

“Hey, hey Tony,” Steve says, taking his face in his hands, feeling for the first time how thin he is, “the others are okay. You need to eat.”

“Not hungry, and no they’re not. They aren’t here. I left them.” Steve’s eyebrows draw down in confusion as he pulls out his phone.

“There. I just asked everyone to come into the kitchen.” they filter in one at a time, and Tony gets a little more relaxed. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles as he leans against the table, ignoring the suddenly appearing apple.

“For what?” Clint snaps with a snort. “Getting us all in here so you could make sure you didn’t do any damage.” Tony just nods. Wanda is watching with a sense of cool detachment. 

“Hey, lay off,” Steve says as he wraps an arm around Tony and pulls him into the larger man’s side, “there’s something wrong with him.”

“He’s probably exhausted,” Natasha notes, noting the dark bags beneath his eyes.

“I’m going to take him up to his bed,” Steve says, tugging Tony up. It’s not like the man’s never been so tired he forgets what year it is and acted as he would in the past. The inventor goes with him, eyes all big and sad and lost.

 

…

 

Tony lifts his head up, scowling. How the hell did he get to bed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think:)


	12. Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wisens up.

The day that Clint Barton sneaks out of the Tower, Tony has visited three more times, looking as confused and lost and receptive as he was before. This is… not right. This is strange. He needs to find someone to fix this. 

“If you think your friend is in danger, why not tell those around you?” Professor Charles Xavier says, hands clasped in front of him over his wheelchair. Clint shakes his head.

“Listen… we aren’t friends. Maybe we were once, but there got to be more bad blood than there was water to wash it away, so we aren’t any more. But this ain’t right. It looks like mind control, and I needed a mind guy,” he says, hands spreading in a silent  _ what else could I do? _

“Look… much as I hate this, can you just look and see what I see? Tell me if it rings any bells?”

“I suppose,” Xavier says. He does not trust Clint Barton. As alarming as his statements are, he also appears to have been one of the main aggravators since the Sokovia Accords, according to his research (he does very good research). This may be a trap. It also may be worse than what Mr. Barton thinks. “Why don’t we just-” Xavier says, reaching out a hand. After a moment, Clint takes it.

Suddenly, they’re standing in a warehouse, the only lights coming from lower down, where people are moving things about. 

“I know this place. Why are we here?” Clint says, looking around. He’s worried, blunt eyebrows pulling inward as he spins in place a couple of times.

“Often times, an individual will store their memories in a construct, which is often borrowed from real life. We need to find the memories you want me to look at. To do this, you have to find how the construct works,” Xavier says, stepping closer to the railing. He wonders what part of this place is so important. What thing failed or came through for Mr. Barton here, that he would subconsciously make this place his memory construct? 

Clint looks to the left, following Xavier’s calm, impassive gaze, where he sees himself from years ago, in his nest, eyes on the prize. Clint looks down over the railing, to see that instead of a tesseract, there is a flickering cube. He can see each detail, and realizes that they are all scenes in his life. Some of them are innocuous, things he forgot about, even. Others are fond things. Others still are some of the worst points in his life. They all flash, clearly and unblurred no matter the subject matter. 

“Bingo,” he breathes as he leads Xavier, who can walk now, down from the nest and through the bustling scientists. At first, Clint tries to step around them, as they don’t move; they progress exactly as they did in his memories. He quickly catches onto how things work when Xavier does not flinch, but instead phases right through. Clint stops, considering, then walks over to where Doctor Erik Selvig worked.

“May I?” he asks mind-Selvig.

“What are you looking for?”

“Tony Stark, from two days ago, from six days ago, and from seven days ago.” Selvig nods, does something on the computer, and then-

 

_ They’re standing in the hallway of the thirty first floor. Memory-Clint is in the ceiling vents, watching in suspicion. It taints the atmosphere, makes everything sharper, like with disbelief. The elevator doors open, they see Tony wander out, in a suit and with a briefcase. _

_ “Steve?” he calls out, and he sounds so lost. _

_ “Tony? Are you still not sleeping properly?” _

_ “I can’t. The nightmares get to me every time,” he says, voice too soft, face to vulnerable for the Tony that Clint knows. The Tony that let Ross have them. _

_ “Hey… hey it’s okay. Come on. You can take a nap on the couch. We can have… tea. Not coffee since you really should sleep.” _

_ “Okay.” _

 

_ They’re in the kitchen this time, and their watching Memory-Tony and Memory-Clint. _

_ “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I it was all my fault if I just did anything different we wouldn’t be here today,” he mumbles into his fist as he slumps against the table. _

_ “Jesus, Stark, what’s gotten into you?” _

_ “I dunno… I… I don’t think I’m sleeping anymore, but I remember waking up a lot.” _

 

_ Memory Clint is in the hallway, peaking in on the living room, as Real Clint and Real Xavier watch Tony apologize to Wanda. _

_ “Your apologies mean nothing to me, Stark. What is the saying? “Too little, too late”?” She says, her accent getting stronger by the word, and there’s such a look of triumph on her face that Clint wanted to punch in her self-victimizing teeth. He hadn’t felt that the first time around, and yet here he is, considering how much power he has as an observer to his memories. _

_ “None,” Xavier says, eyelids at half mast, bald head tilted down in thought. He runs capable hands over his lilac tie as he observes the scene.  _

_ “When this happened, I felt… less. I’ve been feeling less than I usually would for a while now.” _

_ “Is that what tipped you off?” Xavier says with a nod to a newcomer. They’ve reached the part where Steve comes in, his arm wrapping around Tony. He’s always so comforting, but he never gets rid of the problem. _

_ “Yes. I… when we first got broken out of the RAFT, I was like ‘Great. Fuck this place.’ right? And then we got to Wakanda, and Wanda was so pissed with Tony, kept talking about the collar, which, yeah, fair game, and Steve just looked… so guilty, you know, and, yeah, I spy on people for a living. Sometimes I can tell you shit about people without ever talking to them, just by knowing what they’re talking about and the way they’re reacting. So I see him make this face, and it’s like… there’s no denying that Steve went too far. Somewhere along the line, he went way too far. _

_ “So I cornered him about it, and he’s like ‘he attacked Bucky’, and that’s all he would say. Jut about how his best friend got attacked by Stark- he was always Stark, by the way. Probably because up until that moment, Stark was the best friend. The one who was always arguing, always making things difficult, but always, always, staying loyal- but in any case, it took forever, but he finally told me the full story.  _

_ “That’s how I realized that all of this- this running and leaving my kids and getting Wanda out of the Compound and going against Stark- all of it was for… for something no one ever asked if I believed in. It wasn’t about the Accords. It was about Bucky. Just Bucky. Fuck the rest of us. I mean, I was still angry at Stark, but it was obvious that we were in the same boat. I think I hated that part more than anything. So I did a little anarchy of my own, and in the end, we wind up signing the Accords, just so the rest of us fucks will have a chance to go home. _

_ “This-” Clint stops and gestures to the scene. It’s started over, now. Memory Wanda is still talking about too little too late. Steve is still entering, but it’s more stale. “This is not the way you behave towards the man you literally tried to kill. He acts like Tony’s the one who’s in the wrong, like Steve is just a gentle man who had to make a decision forced on him by Evil Tony but he’s ready to forgive. I don’t know why he’s going along with this, but he knows full well this is wrong.” _

_ “I think that’s quite enough,” Xavier says as he sets a hand on Clint’s gesturing arm. _

 

They’re back in Xavier’s study. 

“You certainly aren’t friends, but you may yet be allies, and he’s certainly not who I met.”

“So you think it’s mind control?” Clint says, sitting forward a little bit.

“After a fashion. Sometimes, it is as though the victim is a puppet, the puppet master above them. Other times, it feels like they’re the ones controlling their strings, with no real orders, but a certain need of sorts coming from the inside. I would need to step into Doctor Stark’s head to see which it is, but it appears to be suggestion, rather than direct control.

“Is that… better?”

“No. It is much harder to find, notice, or keep away.” Xavier says, his finger tapping on the wood. This is tricky. Stark is hardly his friend… but he is a great mind, with a lot of political pull. Proving Xavier’s dedication to… adhering to a higher standard than some of his peers may earn his faith in the future. Never mind the fact that this is a man under mind controlled, and it’s very sad to see the difference.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed, Mr. Barton. Oh indeed.”

“What happens now?”

“Now, I would like to do a little mental work on your mind. It seems like whoever is affecting Stark is likely affecting the rest. With, of course, the exception of you, it seems.”

“Why me? I… I was one of the worst ones,” Clint says, looking out at the windows in Xavier’s study.

“If I had to guess, you likely just needed less suggesting than anyone else. It’s possible that if you truly hated Stark as much as you claim you did, then it would have taken less to make you go along with it. Whoever did this evidently does not know you very well,” Xavier says.

“What are you going to do?”

“Coordinate with Mr. Stark’s team, of course. Inform them of the situation, and what I’ve done with it. Subtlety appears to be in everyone’s best interest.” Clint nods. He’s trapped, now. Either he’s getting hit with the book or he’s going into his own home as an operative. Still, a Stark out of his mind is a very bad idea indeed.


	13. Break Up, Make Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has finally reached his limit, and, this time, he goes to where his real friends are.

Bruce is in the living room on his floor, melancholy with the silence. He misses when he could have just gone upstairs and sat with Tony. The elevator opens, and Tony’s standing there in the door, looking utterly defeated. He’s also this close to a breakdown.

“Bruce, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he chokes out as he stumbles out into the living room, his collarbones standing out as though they’d been contoured, eyes wild. 

“What is it, Tony?” Bruce asks as he rises from where he’d been sitting on the low couch. He takes Tony’s forearms in his hands, trying to get him to make eye contact.

“I dunno. I sleep alot but I have no energy and I can’t breathe half the time and it’s like my mind is racing but it’s producing absolutely nothing like pumping the gas but the fuckin’ car is in neutral and I don’t understand any of it.” He says, and it doesn’t seem like he can hold himself up anymore. He starts to crumble, but Bruce catches him and, like he did in days past, when he had begun to believe that he might just stay forever, he gently moves his friend through the room to lay him out in the bed big enough for the Hulk.

“It’s okay, Tony. Just breathe for me,” he murmurs, threading his hands through Tony’s unwashed hair. He swallows back the ew trying to escape and scratches gently, rubbing over the back of his neck before going back over the crown of his head. The whole time, Tony’s quietly sobbing into his chest.

“I’m losing my mind. I can’t do this alone but I can’t do it with anyone either.”

“Why?”

“Because you all leave. Every single one of you. If you don’t leave, I just hurt you, so I send you away anyways,” he says with a half dozen gasps for breath.

“Tony?” Bruce says after a while, when Tony’s sobs are quieter, and he’s got more control.

“Yeah?”

“I think it’s time you left.”

“What?”

“The Tower, Tony. You’re always alone up there in your bedroom, and you haven’t been eating- don’t deny that, I can feel it. Trust me when I say you need a break.”

“Where would I go?” he says, voice high and breaking.

“Rhodey and Vision are in an apartment that is way too big for two people while the business with the Compound is clearing up, Tony. Go stay with them. It’s not leaving if you go with someone.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll come visit, and until I know you’re okay, I’m moving in too, okay? We’ll figure out what’s wrong with your head, and then when we fix it, you can decide just how much hell you’ll raise and why.” Tony’s voice is catching now, trying to get the words out. Trying to force himself to speak.

“But that’s giving up.”

“Was it giving up when I came back to make sure you were okay?” Bruce says. Tony raises his head up off where it was pressed against Bruce’s chest.

“That’s why you came?”

“Of course. I… only twice in my life has leaving been a painful mistake- when I left Betty, and when I left you. I guess I got so used to not being able to stay, that even when what I’ve been looking for for years- an equal match for the Hulk- landed right in front me, that I spooked. And I have not made many mistakes that are as bad as that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” After a moment, Tony’s nodding his head.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll text Rhodey, and we’ll all go have a sleepover while we figure out what’s wrong.”

“Okay. Can… can I stay here?”

“Yes, Tony. God, yes.”

 

…

 

When Rhodey wheels himself out onto Tony’s floor the following morning, Tony does not throw himself forward, like he would normally. He’s painfully shy, like he’s fifteen again and doesn’t know jack shit about friends or gets how much Rhodey cares for him. The Colonel holds out his arms, and Tony tries to give an awkward hug, but Rhodey just pulls him down into his lap like they did that one time when Tony’s drink got spiked and he was, like, sixteen. It seems to be the right action because Tony doesn’t fight it. Instead, he just curls up and resting his head against Rhodey’s chest, even more muscular than it was, since he started using his upper body more.

Rhodey holds him in close, feeling all those ribs and hating himself for not coming by, even though Tony told him not to. Bruce comes forward and lays a blanket over them both. He and Vision carefully tuck it in.

“Shall we?” Bruce says. He slings a couple of duffle bags over Rhodey’s wheelchair handles. He and Vision get the rest.

“Yes.” 

Tony is unresponsive where he sits with his face pressed into his best friend’s neck. As they take the elevator all the way down to the garage, Tony’s tears slide silently down Rhodey’s dark skin and soak into his shirt.

 

…

 

Doctor Strange opens the door to a better sight than he thought he’d see. Tony is fast asleep under a blanket, his feet pillowed on Rhodey, head on Bruce. Vision stands silent, levitating guard over them, as though he is ready to murder all comers. He likely is. Pepper, who came by after her last meeting, is installed in an armchair, content to watch over one of her oldest friends for now.

“Hello, everyone,” the doctor says, coming closer. Tony’s eyes open, sleep mused and so, so exhausted.

“Hey, Stranger.” that gets him a smile.

“Tony, may I ward this apartment?”

“Why?”

“You’re much less protected here, and we’re worried someone may be influencing you. Besides, it’ll keep your friends safe, too.” Tony is already nodding. On a hunch, Stephen leans down and traces his fingers over Tony’s hair. The movement seems to calm Tony. 

“Good, my dear. It’ll only take a moment.” Strange goes to each room, drawing protection runes on each floor, door, window, and ceiling, and all outer walls. He is displeased that his initial attempt at guarding Tony didn’t work, given that he still wound up breaking down. That means that whatever has been messing with Tony’s mind is likely embedded in his mind itself. It’s not triggered by outside objects that move, as Xavier initially suspected.

With the archer’s report from a week ago, he thinks he knows exactly who is doing this. The mystery on his mind, Stephen turns to go, only to stop at a noise from the couch.

“Tony… do…” he says, mind working to process why he would say don’t, “do you want me to stay?” the genius doesn’t do anything but pull the blanket up over his head and push back farther into the deep couch, but Strange gets it.

He takes a seat and rests his hand on Tony’s side. He hates that the first sign that the man likes him back is this… weakness exposed so horribly. He doesn't have it in him to not give comfort though. All he can really hope for is for Tony to still feel the need for him to stay even after this thing is gone from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update guys. School has been kicking my ass. For those of you reading the Come On and Make Me series, the next part is Regression, but it's not ready yet. It needs some major editing, but it is on it's way.


	14. Guns Blazin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The New Avengers figure out how to compensate for the mind-tampering, and now they only need to do one more thing.

The Thing in Tony’s head is actually a bundle of spells that have spread out feelers. There’s a spell that causes him to stop on a certain floor only if he doesn’t have any other appointments for that day, which is how he never missed his engagements. There’s a spell that twists his memories so that he forgets where he was. There’s another one in there that makes him apply the negative emotions he has about the Exvengers to himself. There’s another spell that takes away his inhibitions, and that’s just what they can find. There’s other stuff whose purpose isn’t clear. It’s a work of art, if the art is torture. Or murder. Or maybe just gaslighting. 

They’re two weeks in, and they’ve figured out a rhythm. Tony is not to be left alone. Ever. It triggers whatever this thing sitting inside his head is, and makes him anxious and insensate and it’s terrible because the man still has his pride and god, does he hate being helpless. It’s better to stay with Tony than let him go under. Sometimes he doesn’t want to be talked to or even looked at, and so someone will trail after him, sit in the room, but never engage. 

Every day he can, Stephen’s co-opted Tony (again) for Wong’s studies into this giant parasite-spell-wrap thing. It actually resembles a strawberry plant in bloom. Wherever the feelers go in his head, tiny baby spells sprout to keep him compliant or increase his symptoms.

Other times, he sits in on Rhodey’s PT, just working away on his tablet (there still aren’t any new designs, but they’re close on that front, too, since Tony’s been editing old ones). Vision sits next to him, as much to make sure the man who is, for all intents and purposes, his father is okay as well as to watch Rhodey and make sure the other man is okay. 

Whenever Vision isn’t watching, Tony texts Stephen. They have got a bet going on when Vision and Rhodey are going to get together. Tony didn’t really consider the idea that Vision would be romantically inclined after Wanda’s fun example of a good partner. But now that some sort of absolution was reached between the two of them, they’ve started to circle each other in a whole new day. 

Now that he is thinking about it, though, he and Rhodey would be a good match- the both of them calm and patient with the others’ (some perceived, some not) shortcomings. Tony’s got a bet with who’s going to make that first move and when. Stephen and Pepper both have money in, because Tony up to old games is so much better than anything else they’ve seen.

Carol prefers to be the one accompanying him when they go to Xavier’s school, so that the professor can get a look at him. That one’s trickier, though, because Tony is anxious about the idea of someone being inside his head. Mostly, they just spend time together, him and Xavier. They work on things, consider candidates for the Avengers (which is where Carol comes in), and wonder who could come stay with the X-Men. Originally, Tony had been considering Wanda, but it’s obviously not going to work. 

It’s a good day when they’ve made a private breakthrough. Pepper has had JOCASTA delivered to Tony, and FRIDAY lives on in the tablets, plus she’s fully integrated into the Compound again. Tools litter Tony’s bedroom as he works on their maintenance. JOCASTA also trails after him, mother-hennish now that she’s been reactivated. FRIDAY refuses to be put down (she’s in the phone). 

Stephen finds him the day after that, JOCASTA’s bone white hand wrapped around Tony’s while he takes a nap on the couch (that’s another thing. While the spell is withering, since it can’t be maintained by the caster, it exhausts Tony as it searches for a food source. It can’t find enough energy, though. This thing was designed to be discrete, so it needs regular energy. It has to get it from either the creator, who can’t get to Tony inside the heavily guarded walls of Rhodey and Vision’s apartment, or from Tony himself, which isn’t happening because he’s no longer following the commands of the spell. 

The Tony’s eyes are slipping closed, and open, setting up a slow blink. Stephen is considering making him a rune to guard his dreams as he takes his place on the couch next to Tony’s head, relieving Vision. Tony ignores him for a while before he pushes himsef up to lay his head on Stephen’s thigh. Based on Tony’s need for contact that can come from anyone, there’s likely a spell that increases his need for touch, but doesn’t generalize it. Much. 

They spend that day, and many days after, laying together like this. Eventually, Stephen gets comfortable enough to run his hands through Tony’s too-long hair, feeling along the silky strands and scratching gently at the scalp. Tony loves it, if the way he moves so that he can just lay with his head in Stephen’s lap is any indication.

“Tony,” Stephen says one day, when Tony seems a little more lucid. A little more out of his head and in reality.

“Yeah.” 

“We have almost everything we need.”

“What’s left?”

“Just proof. We need to see the spell in action.”

“Hmm,” Tony says, thinking.

 

…

 

Accompanied by literally anyone who's been on Stark duty (that includes Jane Foster and Carol Danvers), Tony ventures back to the Tower for the first time. This time, Bruce tries to quell the trepidation in his stomach. The breakthrough with JOCASTA is promising, but it’s very likely that going near the source will trigger an episode. When Tony’s coming back up from one of those, he can be a crying, sobbing mess. It hurts that it happened while Bruce was away. While he chose to be away.

Xavier and Rhodey take up most of the elevator, but the thing is large and spacious so it’s not that bad. Stephen, Dr. Foster, and Vision stand shoulder to shoulder against the back wall, while Captain Danvers stands next to Tony, along with Bruce. Wong stands as well, ready to come to anyone’s aid. Pepper is on the other side. They might need all of these people. The source of what’s plaguing Tony is here, and they’ve got a pretty good idea of what, courtesy of Clint Barton. 

Stephen Strange has cloaked everyone but Tony in this, just waiting to see what will happen. As the numbers reach the tens, then the twenties, he reaches out and jabs at another floor. The elevator slows, then stops on 31. Tony gets out. With a silencing spell on the two wheelchairs and rest of the occupants, everyone else follows.

Tony wanders, as dazed and confused as he was a month ago, into the kitchen. It’s lunch time. Steve is making something. It looks like sandwiches.

“Tony? Pepper said you had a business trip.”

“I don’t know what I had. I don’t even remember what I ate this morning,” Tony says, mouth pulling down as he tries hard to think and just… can’t push through. Steve sets down his knife where he was cutting cheese and comes around the table.

“Hey, there,” he murmurs, taking Tony’s elbow in hand, pulling him in, “you’ll figure it out in a bit. Why don’t you eat lunch?” He says as he pulls Tony over to where he’s got a growing pile of sandwiches. Leaving the others to finish the job, he pulls Tony down onto his lap where he sits and offers the bread and meat and cheese. Tony shakes his head as Steve runs his hand up and down Tony’s side, sometimes pulling up his shirt a bit, other times sliding right underneath it.

The watchers are silent. Widow enters next, picks up her sandwich, then leaves, as does Clint. Sam Wilson, who has not been seen for days according to Clint, doesn’t make an appearance. Scott seems as dazed as Tony is when he wanders in for his own food. 

Finally, though, the only crystal clear mind on the team enters, picks up her own sandwich, and sits down in front of Steve. She regards the couple with bored eyes. There is no telling what she thinks of the way Steve’s hands slide oh so gently over Tony’s bare skin, of the way he tilts the genius’ head for a kiss. Of the way Tony just gets more and more confused.

“Bingo,” Stephen says, and every member of the Avengers, plus Professor Xavier and Pepper, suddenly appear. Wanda starts.

“Why are you here? Who invited you?” she snaps, but Steve doesn’t even pay any attention. With a twist of his hand, Wong weaves a spell into the floor which explodes outward, breaking everyone of the daze they’ve been in. As suspected, it works on everyone but Steve, who seems too involved, and Tony, who has much deeper spellwork. Steve doesn’t notice, but Tony starts to struggle.

“We were doing so well, Tony,” he says, half begs as he attempts to calm the genius down. Pepper walks up and straight tazes him, smirking at the zapping sound. Darcy grins, because that’s her tazer. Vision is there to catch the falling bodies and help Tony to his feet.

“What’s wrong with Steve?” Tony says as he leans against the Android. He lifts his head. “What the hell is going on?”

“Your amnesia and migraine are to be expected, Mr. Stark. Nefarious things have been going on,” Vision says as he turns angry, glittering eyes on his once almost-paramour.

“I did nothing!” she barks at him, angry too. The first time they’ve seen each other in months, and he gives her that look?

“I’m afraid you did, Miss Maximoff,” says Xavier as Tony is transferred back to sit on Rhodey and relax against him. It takes too long and Tony’s vibrating with a mix of trepidation, fear, anger, and rising clarity. Vision stands by, both to protect the man he’s spent all these weeks with as well as his father. He feels a strange warmth in his chest, as though he is… more than content, but less than ecstatic at the sight. It is nice. He elects to hold onto the feeling for a long while.

“Who are you?” Wanda snarls. She can’t move now, all bound up by Stephen and Wong.

“My mistake,” says a blonde whose both bigger and taller than Wanda; about the height of most of the men. She lays a hand on her breast, deciding to start with herself so that things will get more and more serious as she goes. She doesn’t quite have Tony’s (previous and future but not current) flair for dramatics, but she certainly likes a show when she can get it.

“I am Carol Danvers, Third in Command of the Avengers, after Colonel Rhodes and Doctor Stark, of course. This is Doctor Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, Fourth in Command of the Avengers, and an expert in magic; specifically magic of a dark origin. This gentleman right here, who you ought to pray that you never meet alone now, is Master Wong, Librarian of Kamar-Taj, and the most experienced Sorcerer to date. He is also officially an Avengers consultant with one of the highest level clearances there is. Finally, that gentleman right there is Professor Charles Xavier, of the Xavier institute, foremost telepath in the world.” 

Danvers gives a little smile, daring Wanda to argue. To buck up.

“I would introduce the rest, but that’s just a waste of breath. What is not a waste of breath is informing you that you are under arrest for the malicious use of your abilities. Mr. Rogers,” Carol says, addressing the man on the floor. “You are under arrest for sexual contact with Doctor Stark while he was being influenced by outside forces. We will likely charge you with more stuff when we have the full story.  

“Everyone here will be held in cells until a full examination can be conducted on their minds to determine how awake they were and therefore what blame, if any, they should bear. You, however,” she says with a gesture at Wanda, “are definitely going to court, and will be held in a separate space to distance you from what I’ve been reliably informed are your thralls.”

Doctor Strange and Master Wong step forward, and Wanda finds she cannot move.

“Have a good day, Miss Maximoff.” They herd her away into what looks like Kamar-Taj. A moment later, Stephen steps back through.

“Her magic does not function as ours does; I would not assume yourselves entirely safe.” Rhodey nods from where Tony’s fallen asleep and Vision has procured a blanket from somewhere. Steve is sitting up, staring at the sight.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will soon enough, Mr. Rogers,” Xavier says as Steve is hauled up and cuffed, and the rest of the Rogues are retrieved and cuffed as well. They stand in the empty thirty first floor, Tony’s eyes shut tight, true sleep finally dragging him down hard and fast. Clint wanders in after his bound colleagues and holds out his hand.

“I’ve been informed that I may have whatever they have,” he says. Carol shrugs and cuffs him too.

“At least you broke it,” Rhodey says. Clint knows he has a long way; knows he’s going to have to prove that he’s still worth the shot, even though he hasn’t been acting like it, even though he blamed Stark for his own actions all these months, but he thinks that Rhodey’s quiet observation is all he needs to know that he will get there, eventually. It calms something in his chest as he’s led away by Carol and Stephen into some place underneath the Compound for holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god! we are three chapters away from the end!


	15. Rest and Recuperation and Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers figure out what they're going to do with Tony Stark.

Tony Stark sits in a small common room on the west side of the building, enjoying the way the warm afternoon sun heats him through the windows. He closes his eyes, lost in the sensation. He’s pulled one of the couches over, back to the room, so that he can lay on it and soak at the same time.

“Man of Iron.” Tony opens his eyes, annoyed. It’s been a really long week. He would like to nap without interruption, thank you. 

“Thor.” The asgardian looks golden and strong and noticeably lacking in the eye department. 

“I would have words.” Tony just looks at him, as does JOCASTA. “Please.” Tony sits up and glances at his robot before jerking his head. Then he follows Thor.

They step out from the shatterproof glass doors and Tony slides on the coat he always keeps with him. It’s hard to stay warm, these days. It’s probably got something to do with the weight loss.

“I would like to apologize,” Thor says as he walks. Off in the distance, evidently meditating, is Thor’s brother. Tony hasn’t seen him much, but it looks like the two get along strangely well. It’s amazing what a lack of homicidal urges will do to a friendship.

“You and everyone else, big guy.”

“You know that I am duty bound to leave.” 

“Yeah.”

“But I am also duty bound to return. This time, I left things far too long. I was angry with you for Ultron, and I felt that a little hostility from the other members of your team would do you well. In many ways, you reminded me of my brother when Lady Sif and the Warriors Three would catch Loki at his tricks.” there is a beat of silence, as though Thor is bracing himself. 

“Like then, there was much I did not look enough to see,” he finishes, the confession slipping out like the last of the water from a hastily sealed crack.

“Oh.”

“I knew… that my presence was needed, but I ignored it in favor of other pursuits. I assumed that a man of your intellect would not need me so much as find a use for me.” Maybe not the last of the water, then.

Tony almost bristles. Need? But, yes, need. Thor was a king, and he was infinitely kinder than many- hell, most- Tony had met. His presence would have made things more bearable. He may have tipped the scales at the airport, as well.

“Even when I could feel that thread pulling me with greater an greater urgency,” Thor continues as if he has not noticed Tony’s changing expressions, “I did not respond, and for that I will be forever sorrowful for. Especially when I see now what allowing myself to be remiss in my duties has done to one who I swore was my shield brother.”

“But Asgard is healing now, healed, even. While some of the outer sections of the realm still require a gentle and nurturing hand, much of the city is repaired and lived in once again, thanks in no small part to my brother. It is even, I daresay, better than before.”

“What do you mean?”

“Magework- witchcraft, you would call it- has, for the longest time, been considered lesser and womanly. By willingly sharing the throne with my brother, the opportunity has arisen to thread my counsel with the magically inclined. I saw, once, a girl-child change the color of the lilies she and her friends had picked. 

“I saw a lad call his practice dagger from where it had been flung, buying him enough time to win his duel. I saw an old woman and man, not long for Valhalla, I think, link hands to sew seeds into their portion of land. The air is new, in Asgard, because what has been hidden for so long now breathes freely,” Thor pauses, as though considering what he’s going to say next.

“You should write poetry.” Tony notes. 

“I learned the art of prose from my brother. He was the only one who would practice with me. Our siblings found the skill- or the use of it, really- distasteful, and deigned not to pass it on deliberately.”

“You have a macho society, don’t you?”

“Not so much, anymore. I tell you these things to say that Asgard, in healing itself, has returned to the great city of healing that it was before the Frost Giants and Asgardians first fought. While the prejudice and the pain that comes with it is not, nor will it ever be, completely eradicated, I am confident we can get to as good a place as an be reached.”

“Congratulations.”

“You, my friend, are in need of healing.” Anthony stops dead in his tracks, eyes pinned on Thor, feet almost tripping over the cobblestones.

“You want me to come to Asgard.” It isn’t a question, and Tony is so unsure of what it- and everything else, really- means for him. He hate being like this all the time.

“I do. We have entered a new era of acceptance. Diversity is a thing to be cherished in Asgard the way it was not before. Every day, the Bifrost opens to transport nobles and wunderkind alike from Alfheim, Vanaheim, and Svartalfheim. Helblindi, the current king of Jotunheim and Loki’s blood brother, is turning over the idea of peace in his mind. 

“There has never been a better time to bring a human to Asgard. Especially a shield brother, injured by those who were supposed to protect him and made to pay penance far beyond what he has done.” Thor turns to him, his T-shirt rippling a bit in the afternoon breeze, and takes Tony’s hand where it has escaped his pocket. 

“I have been remiss in my duties, but let me show you to people who will do no such thing.”

“ _ Why _ , Thor?” 

“You are my friend.” Tony’s face does something complicated as he begins to back away. Thor, already warned of this new habit, lets him go and stays where he is.

“But it never mattered before. Ever. I… the last time you saw me, you fucking choked me. How do I know you aren’t just taking me to Asgard to kill me off? To do to me what they did when what I did wasn’t enough?” 

Tony is still backing up, eyes darting over to where Loki is still in meditation at the far side of the lawn, wondering if maybe it was all a ploy after all. Get Stark alone again. Get him to let his guard down. Then: bam! Fuck him up some more.

“Because I care,” Thor says, and his voice is so sad. Even now, he is finding things he never paid attention to growing up, and paying the price for it.

“That’s never been enough before.”

“There are plenty of reasons to bring you, Sir Anthony,” says a new voice. Tony looks to his left and jumps away. Loki is standing there, hair long and undone around his shoulders and standing out marvelously against his sky blue button down.

“What reasons?”

“You know of Thanos.”

“Yes.”

“You know we must prepare.”

“Yes.”

“Well, Asgard is full of Warriors, and Midgard can no longer be considered lesser, and therefore ignored. It seems it would behoove both of our planets to begin exchanging people; what better place to start than a man whose mind might save the world- has saved the world, it looks like- but whose heart is ever weakening?” Loki says. The logic in that statement makes Tony calm down. They don’t want to… take advantage. They have a job for him and a job for themselves. Yes. That… that makes more sense.

“I… I need to think.” He bolts, turning and walking back inside, straight to Stephen’s office, and sinks down in the chair on the other side of his desk. Stephen doesn’t say anything, but he does reach across the wood and run his hands through Tony’s salting hair. 

“It will get better, my dear. Already, the magical presence in your mind is shrinking; retracting back into itself without fuel to sustain it. It has already relinquished its hold on your emotional attachments. It won’t be long before prying it out will be an easier task.”

“I know but… but Thor and… and Loki. They want me to leave with them but the last time I just went off at someone’s suggestion I almost fucking died and I don’t know what to do anymore. Things didn’t used to be so hard.” Stephen switches to using both shaking hands.

“May I suggest we make this a meeting? Since you are the joint-leader of the Avengers?”

“I… I guess.”

 

…

 

The core avengers are meeting again. Jane Foster, after having gotten her wish of punching the King of Asgard in the face, is feeling much better. Well good enough to let Loki teach her a thing or two about the aether. As such, her collar is off, as she now has the basis for control.

Carol Danvers is feeling more secure in the fact that most, if not all, of the Rogues will not be making it onto the team (thank fuck. Between Wanda’s magical ‘mishaps’ that were always blamed on a loss of control when they weren’t, and their willingness to look away that lead to Tony’s strange behavior, they ought not be here). So much so that her rigidity is a bit less prominent, and she’s talking to the weirdly functional trainwreck that is Darcy Lewis. 

Tony is between Rhodey and Strange, enjoying the fact that he’s around his best friend enough to hold hands again (with both of them. Yaaaaaaaaas). He’s also very worried, so the happy feelings are diminished somewhat. Jessica Jones remains, as always, unimpressed and unchanged. 

Carol glances at her notes about Tony’s… situation as Darcy goes on and on about how she would totally want to go to Asgard because holy shit, the women!

“Well, you are on medical leave,” she says after a moment. She’s the sort of calm, dry person that people automatically listen to, like the original Edwin Jarvis.

“Yeah, but… I would be literal worlds away.” And that’s it, really; even in Afghanistan, he knew he was on the same planet; knew the way back, even if he didn’t have specifics.

“That is shaping up to be a good thing. Wanda’s magic spread like rot to the edges of your mind, Tony, and your body has taken more damage than it should even be able to over the years. Given that Loki is an expert at this exact form of magic, it’s safer to have him take it out when it’s small enough,” Strange says as he squeezes Tony’s hand a bit tighter. “From a health standpoint, you’re running very low on reserves, and at this point I’m fairly worried about a heart attack.” Tony looks down at the wood grain.

“If it repeats…” He says referring to the cluster fuck of having the Avengers live on the thirty first floor. Jane and Darcy look at each other.

“How about a trade off?”

“What do you mean?” Jane shrugs.

“I have uncontrolled power that can and will do a number on whatever I come in contact with. I need to get it under control, meaning that my best best bet is also Asgard. Darcy wants to see a lot of boobs, so she’s coming with. That’s three humans in Asgard, not just you,” Jane says with all the wisdom that someone who literally tells superheroes what to do all the time ought to have.

“Not only that, but transdimensional portals don’t really have a limit on how far they can go,” Stephen says, running his thumb over Tony’s knuckles. “I would come to visit. I could bring other people to visit. In fact, I would honestly be fairly interested in sending Colonel Rhodes with you at some point in the future.” Tony looks over at his best friend, who smiles a bit.

“It wouldn’t be like it was last time, Tony; we would keep in better contact, and make sure we do things differently. Besides; you’re better connected now. We would know the moment something was off,” says Carol from where she sits next to Darcy. She likes Tony, even if she didn’t really know where they stood for a while there. Between his reservations on the prospect of new people and his involvement with some of the biggest destructive events in this decade, it was very unclear whether or not Doctor Stark was part of the problem, or an ignored solution.

“So it would just be a vacation…” Tony murmurs, lost in thought.

“Yes. I would say go now, but I doubt you’ll rest easy until the court date is done. Plus, once you get there, the first goal of the visit would be some very heavy healing. So, you would have to relax,” Strange says. 

He seems good at explaining things; better than Tony, really. His head is stuck in this weird limbo of thoughts he would have had at any other time in his life and thoughts he would have had these past few months or so. Sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart. All he really wants right now is for Bruce to be in here. But with the New Avengers redoing the entire structure, his status is in the interim, as is Thor’s. Loki is an official consultant with his signature already on the Accords.

“If you think it’s going to work,” he says, looking down at the table again. It’s hard to meet anyone’s eyes, these days. He hates how he’s only now noticing the little things that Wanda’s spell did to him.

“Great.” Rhodey says. His smile is so soft and adoring that Tony wonders how he ever pushed his oldest friend away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs* yes, i know, I've been a bad author who can't post shit on time despite everything already being written out before hand. So here's the deal, guys. Today's Wednesday. Friday, the next chapter, Big Brown Eyes, is going up. Next Tuesday, as usual, the next chapter after that is going up, and then we'll be done with this fic. Again, I'm sorry for being bad at updating. It's been an extremely long couple of weeks, and, as 50 cent said, when it rains, it pours.


	16. Plead Insanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda is proven to be the reason behind Tony's bad fortune, and she pleads insanity, and receives a little critiquing.

 

As invasive as it is, it is agreed for the sake of Tony’s and the Avenger’s as a whole’s reputation that a select number of news sites would be allowed to record and televise the court hearing, provided they did so in full, and did not attempt to alter the meaning of the video. Tony thinks that, with Stark Industries at his back, they are liable to keep up their end of the deal. After all, Pepper Potts is a scary ass lady.

Everything that is supposed to happen today is set up, and the involved parties were up last night, going over the events, when they would happen, and how they would happen. As such, Tony knows that they’ll be okay. That things will go off without a hitch because it’s Pepper Potts and Tony Stark, goddammit, and they get shit  _ done _ . 

But in the morning he doesn’t hesitate to squeeze three times the caffeine into his morning coffee and makes sure to eat real food. He’s going to need it. He wonders if it’s just him or if food is getting easier; he doesn’t really need Caol giving him the stink eye to get his breakfast down. He needed that yesterday.

Eventually, those meant to leave with him converge in the kitchen with JOCASTA near, as always. They’re dressed sharply in blacks and greys and navy blues. Tony takes a good look at Carol and wonders if Darcy has figured out just whose got the boobs around here. Tony stands still for Pepper to run her fingers over his tie. He doesn’t need her to do that- never has really, except for once or twice. But it’s nice.

  
  


…

 

Stephen is on the stand, looking like a cut in his all black suit. The cross examination of him has begun.

“Mr. Strange. You were a surgeon, up until six years ago, correct?” Strange nods.

“What made you quit?” In response, Stephen holds up his hands, the fine tremors and ugly scarring on display.

“I was in a car wreck. It damaged my hands beyond repair.”

“So you felt the logical conclusion was… magic?”

“At the end of my rope, I followed a rumor and a story, and found myself the student of the Ancient One with the intent to fix the tremors, but what I found there was worth so much more than any steadiness could ever gain me.”

“So you never went back.”

“That is correct. I guard the London Sanctum, and do work as an Avenger as well, but I won’t be going to clock in at a hospital,” Stephen says.

“Could you describe what the path to your level of skill is?”

“It is different for everyone,” Stephen says easily, “but time and practice and dedication are the staples.” The lawyer- a one Samuel Jakes, purses his thin lips. Wanda watches Stephen in equal parts fascination and anger. She has never seen one so… powerful as this.

“Right,” Mr. Jakes says, “so you are saying that, in the six years since you were a doctor-”

“I still am a doctor. I consult on occasion, I still have my license, and I have two different doctorates.”

“Since you worked in a hospital,” Mr. Jakes corrects with a surge of annoyance, “you managed to study your way to the top of a mystic order of magical monks in such a way that you magically know how to apprehend the Scarlet Witch, who gained her abilities in a lab.”

“Yes. It is magic, not magic tricks, and we are not monks. What we do affects the real world; regardless of the origins of whatever we’re affecting.” The attorney tilts his head.

“But what about you, Dr. Strange? You did not believe in magic six short years ago. 

“Ignorance does not make a claim false. It just means that whoever made that claim needs to do their research,” Stephen says, and he sounds so much like the Sorcerer Supreme that Tony, wane and tired and scared as he is, has to stop a smile.

“With all due respect,” Tony’s lawyer, a Mr. Murdoch, cuts in, “ I don’t believe we are going anywhere with this.” the judge nods. 

“Please get on with the examination, sir.”

Mr. Jakes casts an annoyed look at Mr. Murdoch.  

“Dr. Strange, you claim to have glimpsed Miss Maximoff’s aura on your way up to see Mr. Stark three months ago. You said it looked infected.”

“Like an infection. Not infected,” Stephen clarifies.

“What’s the difference?”

“An infected aura suggests that something has invaded a person, as is the case with Dr. Stark. An infection poisons everything and everyone she goes around.” The attorney inclines his head.

“Fair enough. Tell me again about your first visit to Stark Tower.”

“I had made an appointment with Dr. Stark to speak to him on the possibility of passing some of those who come to kamar-taj and our other sanctums seeking answers for things best seen to by people of other crafts.”

“How do you mean, people of other crafts?”

“Sometimes, a man will come, and he will have some ailment or deformity, either physical or mental, and he’ll want us to fix it, and we can do that. Other times, there is nothing wrong with him, except that he produces acid instead of sweat. Or when he sleeps he has the power to relive the day over again to the degree where he can get twice the chores, twice the work done, except he has no control. 

“Those men don’t need the Sanctum any more than anyone else might. They need training. They need a spray that neutralizes acid or other such things. They are, like the men in the former category, often at the end of their rope, and are just about ready to hang themselves with it.”

“I understand, do continue, doctor.”

“In any case, I went to talk about the aforementioned subject. While in the elevator I performed a small spell that would allow me to look at the auras of everyone in the tower.”

“And why did you do that?”

“Dr. Stark was getting thinner. All I’d ever seen him drink was coffee, and that doesn’t keep a man of any size or profession, never mind Dr. Stark.”

“You… spied on people because he didn’t eat enough?”

“It was more than that. It is difficult to describe, but I suspected that he might be suffering some curse or another. And it is not spying. Auras are there for anyone to see if they know how, just like art in a public place is there for anyone to interpret or music and books are there for anyone to deconstruct if they know what to look for.”

“But… not everyone know how to look at auras, Dr.”

“Not everyone can recognize C major, or hear when a person is flat or sharp, or the symptoms of a heart attack, which, by the way, doctors do.”

“But if you can-”

“I’m sorry your honor, I believe my witness has defended his actions well enough,” Matt Murdoch cuts in.

“Noted. Move on, Mr. Jakes.”

“So you drew the rune, saw the auras. Then what happened?”

“For clarity’s sake, I only focused on what was the same level as myself. When I passed the thirty first floor, I saw a red aura that was intense and riotous and, of course, festering. That was Miss Maximoff’s aura. From there, the elevator continued to rise, and I turned my attention to the entire building, but could not see any of her trailing upwards from the thirty first floor, as it would have for anyone else. At that point, I dropped the spell. That was a mistake, because I never got a look at Dr. Stark.”

“Do you believe you would have seen Miss Maximoff’s… aura on Dr. Stark if you had seen him?” 

“I can’t say. All other forms of remote control have always involved a sort of thread connecting those involved. There was no thread here, I cannot say I would have seen anything on Dr. Stark himself.”

“Then it’s possible that Dr. Stark could have been acting of his own accord when he threw you out.”

“I doubt it. System logs show Dr. Stark had already deactiviated both JOCASTA and much of FRIDAY by that point. Now I overstepped my bounds a bit when in his house, and he did react to that, but the actions he took did not reflect the situation hand.”

“But you say you didn’t see evidence of mental manipulations, so it might not have been Wanda Maximoff, but a number of Dr. Stark’s less than stellar habits.”

“I also said that her powers are a derivative of an alien magic. There is no telling what it would look like. It’s possible that I was attempting to see on the wrong layer of our reality, and that’s why there was no thread, and its also possible that she had withdrawn her influence the moment I stepped into the building and Dr. Stark’s reaction was based solely on her left over presence.”

“But you have no proof!”

“I said I had no proof in that moment. I learned to find the proof.” The judge and Mr. Murdoch and Mr. Jakes connect eyes.

“Perhaps you should show us.” 

“Raise your hand if you are not amiable to having your aura seen.” No hands go up. Stephen holds out his palms, some of his fingers overlapping each other. First, he pulls his hands apart, and a amber-gold line burns to life in the air. 

His fingers, which maintain the line at three and nine, go to twelve and six, so that one spoke becomes two and a circle runs about the outside of it. He flattens the palm at the bottom of the spell and draws it up around the circumference, while the one at the top drags down, smaller, concentric circles blooms along the vertical line. 

With his hands now in opposite positions, Stephen pauses in his work, withdraws both hands at the same time, then taps the center with index and middle. The spell’s circles extend outward like a cone, the two flat spokes remaining at the bottom and becoming four diagonal stakes that meet at a sharp point in the center of the spell.

This time, Stephen does not pause. He hooks his two fingers around the epicenter of the spokes turns them so that they lay at one, four, seven, and ten, and pulls them towards himself ever so slightly. A wind that is both felt and not felt explodes outwards as the four stakes become evenly jagged like the teeth of pinking shears. Stephen ever so carefully lets go of the spokes, now four smooth stakes, and turns to the judge.

“Sir? Would you like to take a closer look?” The judge is looking around in amazement. Auras flicker in a riot of colors more numerous and prettier than any crayon box, no matter how large or new. In fact, everyone but Loki is taking the opportunity to ogle, including Mr. Jakes.The judge snaps out of it and rises. He’s an older man, with a face that is less kindly than his disposition. 

Dr. Strange glances at Mr. Murdoch, but his aura is as average as anyone else’s. Good. That would be unfortunate if he were to be revealed today.

“As you can see, I was telling the truth about Miss Maximoff’s aura, and her non-visible connection to Tony.” The judge nods. “It bothered me, because the effects were so clear, but the method was hidden. It was all in the spell. If you will step this way?” Stephen asks as both lawyers and the judge follow him. He points to the top of the spell.

“This is what we normally see; the physical world, with the occasional ‘hunch’ per say, for those more aware of themselves and where they live. This second layer allows us to look at the auras of living things. I advise you never watch a death while looking through the Second Lense. I was thinking that, perhaps the reason I have seen nothing is because I am still on the wrong lense. Come around, now.” Stephen leads them to the base of the spell. 

“The Third Lense allows us to see the auras of dead things, and the Fourth,” Stephen pushes the spokes flat, rotates the spokes twice, then pulls again, “allows us to see all magic that is hidden.” Everyone in the room turns their eyes on the Scarlet Witch, who can’t do anything with her magic all bound up by Loki, and Tony, who’s got a little ball of red beating at the core of his brain.

 

…

 

Loki looks in on the girl. And, really, despite being fully grown in earth years, she is like a child; all temper, no substance. The cell in the Kamar-Taj opens up on its own and closes again as Loki steps inside. Gracefully, he takes a seat at the little table.

“You aren’t the first doctor to come and analyze me. You should just go.”

“Doctor? My lady, I am a master mage. You have potential, I’ll grant you that. It takes a lot of willpower to create even one thrall; more to do what you did.” Wanda is watching, angry. But also rather scared, if the arms crossed over her white tunic and pants are any indication.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Loki shrugs one shoulder, this little hitch in one corner of his mouth.

“Nowhere in the direction that flattery has a habit of leading to, and I don’t need to go that way anyways. Beside, I’m assessing you. Not complimenting. Take a seat.” After a moment, Wanda does. Loki notes with disinterest that her tunic does nothing to hide her thinness. They just meet each other’s eyes before Wanda flicks a thin, disinterested hand.

“Go on.”

“As I was saying, you are strong, and your spells certainly got in deep in Doctor Stark’s head. You lack structure, though; you tried to hide it, but your subtlety is severely… ham handed. You also did a poor job of choosing your victim; the genius who currently has one of the highest profiles in the world does not make a good choice at all. 

“His mind was quietly rebelling. He would have killed himself if it had gone on much longer. Furthermore, you’re quite malevolent for someone who literally and figuratively had everything magically be hers at no effort on her part. You would have won simply by leaving Dr. Stark alone. But you didn’t. 

“You wanted his head for something he didn’t really do, and you got sloppy. Made a thrall of Clint Barton- a man known to be sensitive on the subject of mind control- and the rest of your team. You’ve chased your allies away, my dear.” Wanda is giving him a look of pure venom.

“They would not leave me. They hate Stark.”

“They hate the man who they perceive Stark to be: an arrogant child running around making messes in a man’s body, then playing at being good. It is a perception you played on and made bigger than life, blinding them to the sad reality that the man was and is deeply haunted. Now that someone is looking, they’ve realized that this goes back almost from the day you met. Interesting, how that works. In any case, now that you’ve shown no loyalty and proven yourself a danger to everyone, no one will come.”

“Steve will.” 

“The captain is in his own trouble. You did not turn him into your thrall until very late in the game, to keep him from questioning why Tony came to him as wretchedly and in need of touch as he did. It doesn’t look good, really; first he implores you to pick Stark’s brain, to force meetings, then just accepts when a clearly disturbed man is asking to be held. It must have been easy, since all the more pragmatic members of the team were… indisposed. I suppose it wasn’t hard to escalate it into a fuck, really. You didn’t have to try very hard at all. He’s so very far down the rabbit hole, as the saying goes.”

“As for the rest of your friends, I would not bet on them either. Sam Wilson and Scott Lang had also lost their ability to eat or function as a result of your power usage, and needed medical attention. The Black Widow, of course, will answer for her part in that initial interrogation, but it seems she cared for Stark after all, given that one of your strongest spells was used on her. There’s also the fact that you were partially working your magic on her since you all got back. She’s quite pragmatic; had she been of her own mind, well, you wouldn’t have done even one tenth of what you did. There is also, of course, the massive eyesore of a mistake you made with the archer. You should not have underestimated Clint Barton.”

“Why are you here?” Wanda’s angry now, tempted to try to use her magic. The runes in her cell suck it all away.

“I told you. I am a master mage, and you made a massive mess of someone’s brain. Let’s continue, shall we? That spell was rather intricate. I’ve never met someone who could do anything close to it without training.  Unfortunately for you, you forgot to make sure he had to take care of himself. It would have stopped people from questioning things for longer. That’s one of the first things you learn about thralls: you have to keep them functional, or they break down. So shame on you for that. It was very sloppy,” Loki admonished, tone light and summery.

“Go away,” Wanda orders, angry and embarrassed.

“I can’t. You plead insanity. And won, but you know that doesn’t set you free.” Wanda stands up and backs against the wall, shaking her head.

“What? You thought your trial would not follow with consequences? That you would be sent to a place to heal your mind when you still have the power to wreck others’? A penance must be paid, my dear,” Loki says as he stands up, hand raising, all wrapped in green. The runes do not even react to him. Wanda feels something pull and then- nothing. She stands still for a moment. Suddenly, he lowers his hand.

“There. Now that you are no longer a danger to others, it is time to work on not being a danger to yourself,” he hums as he turns around and walks away.

“What did you do!?”

“Based on reports submitted by myself and Doctor Strange, you would, with discipline and tutelage, be able to access magic in the future. It was also decided that you would never reach ‘sanity’ as they phrased it, while still being able to use abilities that come from something violently ripped away from its source and in need of its own nurturing. 

“Given that it is not feasible to lock away someone’s magic for long periods of time, it was determined that the best action would be to take the magic  you currently have from you and deposit it with someone else who would take better care of it. I have taken, now I go to deposit,” Loki tosses back as the cell closes behind him.

He saunters away to the sound of rage-filled screams, still the same nonchalant  fellow in black slacks and a dark green button down, hands in his pockets like he is not a legitimate warlord.

He can feel the energy pulsing in his hand still. Wanda Maximoff may have gotten her powers from the mind stone, but they were wholly hers by the end of it. Now that they are cut from their source and their vessel, however painful that vessel was, they are lost. And afraid. They need a new master. Loki walks up the stairs, where Stephen Strange has been watching.

“Might I borrow an empty thing?” he asks, and he thinks this powerful man with the beautiful magic knows exactly what he’ll do about it. Even if they don’t like each other, well, exceptions can be made, for now. Especially since Strange is caught up to date on the nature of his issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I get everything? In related news, there's just the epilogue, now. In other related news, I accidentally posted "Thanos", which is a chapter for Falling Together, here, so if you got that email, I'm sorry, but there's only one update today:) In other related news, apparently the text for "standoffish" actually got posted for this chapter instead of the stuff under "big brown eyes" (the original name of this chapter.


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while for Clint since Loki reappeared and took Tony to Asgard with him.

Clint finds Loki on the roof of the Compound during one of his visits, watching the sun set. His dark green shirts sits flatteringly on his shoulders and ripples in the slight breeze. 

“I didn’t expect you to be like this,” Clint says as he joins him. Who knew that he and his one-time enemy would wind up having the same hiding spot?

“Most people don’t.”

“Why?” Loki’s eyes are closed as he takes in the most of the dying light.

“I was… before all of this, I was a trickster and a master mage, both feared and hated in my own right. Occasionally, I acquired respect, but people have always been too prone to let their friends decide things about strangers that the occurrence was rare. They assumed I would go back to turning the men’s beards to snakes on their wedding day or cursing the loveliest of ladies to wet the bed every night.” Clint chuckles.

“Why didn’t you?”

“When you’ve seen and done what I have, you learn that the peace you have is rare and short, and that most tricks fall below what is worth the effort.” Loki very carefully does not look at Clint Barton. The archer’s got something on his chest.

“They got me in therapy, now, working on a bunch of shit. Inferiority issues. Anger issues. Control issues. Trust issues. The list goes on. I… I was working with SHIELD for years, and no one ever said ‘hey Barton, I think ya need to look at this’ you know? It was always the mission. If you could do that, you could be as dysfunctional as you wanted to be.

“So then, I’ve got all this stuff i need to work out, and it goes back years, right, and suddenly, I’m running around, watching myself do things that I never signed off on. Then I’m jumping into battle with a bunch of fucking crazy people. I… I remember there was this psych eval after that, and I was just waiting on them to flag something. Bench me. Express distrust or something, but it never happened. I came back clean.”

“But you weren’t.”

“No, I wasn’t. So when Steve decided that SHIELD was his next target, I couldn’t find it in me to be all that sad. I mean, don’t get me wrong, that was stupid. Really stupid. We lost a lot of clean people and threw our entire hand down on the table. I was actually on mission at the time and lost two of my guys. But there was somethin’ else that burned up with the triskelion.”

“What is it?”

“We were all disposable. To the point of letting serious disorders go unchecked, we were all disposable. I guess it just took me too long to realize that I was acting like everyone else was disposable, too.”

“Why are you telling me this” Loki asks, contemplative look on his face.

“Seems like, these days, people are prone to acting like you’re disposable.”

“Is this an olive branch?” Clint smiles something sardonic, like he knew he was going to answer this question all along.

“Yeah, this is an olive branch.”

 

...

 

For the second time this year, Tony touches down in the rainbow of the bifrost. His hair is longer now- curling gently around his shoulders- and he looks younger; his time in Asgard had proven as healing to his body as it has to his mind.

He heads into the Compound, FRIDAY greeting him, JOCASTA appearing around the corner on her beautiful bionic legs in the next moment. He reaches out and hugs his AI, mind meshing with the one all around them.

“Boss, the new look is lovely.”

“I like being able to hug you both, now, FRIDAY,” Tony says. In the next moment, he is swamped by those who missed him, from Harley Keener, his heir and fellow brother in sass, to Carol Danvers, who stands back to keep an eye on the quickly filling room, to Clint Barton, who sits with Luke Cage, talking about whatever meatheads talk about. When they aren’t dominating like every Wii game, that is. 

“When he said he wanted to give the energy to you, I did not know how much of a good idea it would turn out to be,” Stephen says where he winds up directly in front of Tony. He leans down to softly press their mouths together, magic flickering and kissing at each other invisibly as well. Cloak flutters its collar happily and wraps around Tony before flitting back over to rest on JOCASTA. That’s it’s favorite friend.

“It’s always a good idea to give things to me- RHODEYBEAR!” Tony shouts as he throws himself at his friend. With Asgardian metals and a crash course in being an old-timey smithy, along with his new abilities at his disposal, Tony had managed to make a set of interactive leg braces that worked better and responded to Rhodey’s shifting bodily needs. They could even lock in place so that he could use it as a chair. 

“It’s good to see you, magicboy.”

“I am not a magic boy. I am a magic man. Actually, I’m a tech man. The most literal computer guru to ever guru.” Stephen come up behind him and lays a hand on his waist.

“I’ll guru you.” Tony laughs. He’s always got this habit of turning everything into something dirty. They’re keeping score between himself, Stephen, and Carol, of all people. The kids aren’t allowed in because Responsible Adults Being Responsible and all that.

“It’s dinnertime,” Harley interrupts as Pepper intercepts Tony for a hug and several more people join them, including ALL of the Junior Avengers, who demand their Obligatory Hug.

“It is not,” Carol says with a slight reprimand in her voice.

“It’s dunch then, and then it’ll be dinner.”

“I second that!” Peter yells out as he skids in on the ceiling, drops down, and wriggles through for his own hug.

“I third,” Tony says with a giggle, effectively winning the argument. As he’s led down the hall by his extended, lovely family, he can feel the binary code of his AI’s, so much more alive than anyone gives them credit for, in his veins, and he reaches out to give another soft, heartfelt hug to FRIDAY.

It’s not over till it’s over, really. Thanos is coming, and everyone might be dead in a few years. Tony might still have to reckon with the former Captain America as he works to find something- anything- that will give him a pass or at least get him out of jail. A second pardon is what he wants. But the Captain’s reputation has, once again, preceded him, and that reputation is changed.

Maybe one day he’ll bury Stephen, instead of the other way around, and maybe one day he might even bury Harley, despite how good the kid is in the Rescue Armor. Maybe they’ll fail, and he’ll die too soon to bury anyone. 

But as they raid the kitchen and snacks get thrown this way and that to all hungry parties (including, Harley shouts out victoriously, Carol Danvers), Tony finds that this is just not something he can change. He’d rather consider the merit of kicking the ass of Spidey-kid’s mercenary and the best way to get Stephen to grab his rejuvenated ass again and how long he can gloat about being right that Rhodey and Vision actually got around to doing the whoop-de-doo before next year. 

He totally won like a thousand off that shit, too. He lost the bet with Hope over who Carol was in bed with, though. (Hint, his name rhymes with Back Banther and he may also be involved with Aurora Munroe, one of the latest additions to their team).

The current bet is when and if Jane and Thor will “branch out”, per say. Loki’s leading that one, and he’s got his money on them trying for Cage.  People have stopped betting on Darcy sleeping with people and started on trying to figure out who’s going to finally make her honest. Tony’s got his eye on Jessica, grouchy bastard that she is. The two compliment each other. 

After all, if it’s not over, till it’s over, then enjoy it while it lasts. Tony’s feeling good enough to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peaks out. Holds up card that reads "that's all, folks"*


End file.
